earth swallows all

the tears, the pain

the lightening, the rain

the bloodstreams of souls

wrenched and leaked out

driveling jaws with sapful lips
relishing mouths

smiling
at bale and wonder

earth swallows all

the cord

cut the cord in darkest shade

with sanded shear

draped around your sisters’ heads

bury it secretly 
within hollow roots

grow and blossom

Combustion heart sequence machine

Is‘ mein Hirn zu groß fürs Herz, mein Herz zu groß fürs Hirn?

Das Hirn macht meistens Terz, das Herz fängt an zu flirr’n.

There is always excessive surplus steam!

I need a combustion heart sequence machine!

Isn't there always a serious soul behind the most hilarious humorist? Otherwise it most likely is nothing but a calvish comedian.

I did not expect

when I put my funnel

underneath your roof

to catch some drops of water

I did not expect

a rainstorm to come

and appease my thirst

stretching the funnel

till it almost burst

it is too strong to burst

but it brims over

but when

indifference of time

towards injustice

that justice could turn

into difference

not today

but when

Doesn't make it easier

Knowing

about humans’ capability

of infinite self-deception

doesn’t make it easier

for the critical mind,

on the contrary,

it makes it harder

to seek and find.

fathoming

fathoming

is having a meal that grows while
eating it

The gap

Replacing the voice

the echo forced its reverberation

to overturn a pitch

and burst the timbre

turning overamplified sensation

into silent resonance

tensely fulminating

the gap

between lightning and thunder.

almost forgot

when was the last time

I picked up apples

long ago

almost forgot

they do not drop

into baskets

pieces

every night

when nobody watches

the moon explodes into pieces

surrounding earth
firmly sticking together so

nobody takes notice

In a frozen jungle

Breathe into thin air and draw a circle

around the good and the bad

colours that mingle

into flakes of white snow

I heard of fairy tales in a frozen jungle

where trees talk

to each other about birds

They ascend and disappear

carry feeble birds with frozen wings

when it is too cold to sleep and sing

One tree fell into the middle

another lifted its roots

to go and find a black carpet

underneath which white snow

could be hidden from migrating birds

He never came back and

the tree in the middle

opened its trunk and closed it
when storms grew heavy

The substance of awe

The substance of awe emanating from machine-age-inspiring excellence is incomparable to 

the substance of awe emanating from sublimity of just one infinitesimal thought by a sensitive thinker.

The latter is of a completely different fabric, 

nonvolatile, adhesive and emphatically insistent to synaptic processes steering the mind.

Glad I don't own a smart phone. Otherwise I might never feel what it means to get lost.

What tables must carry

It is always about stiff old men

This poetry of weeping willow

Wiping up suspended breath

Of villainous crime

Carried through by rope or pillow

Leaving out the ladies’ drapes

Not hanging on arms

Nor sliding on side

Breaking high heels

On family heads

Passing along dining room sets

Where windows reflect

What tables must carry

When still life art is put aside

To offer up pride of decoration

Counting breaths crawling through thresholds

It’s not easy to face him

faceless not reflected by mirror

always hiding underneath

skin that crumbles

in cold air and stretches in heat

like any skin a pretender

a dark man loving to climb trees

and jump off cliffs in the night

without knowing whether it is ground or sea

he will dash into.

In some nights he comes to my house

and sits on a metal chair
bringing it in from I don't know where

quiet and static behind the kitchen sill

watching cars in the street, passengers, 
streetlights reflected in rain 

dropping from window panes

while I try to sleep in the other room
counting breaths crawling through thresholds

longing to breathe into me 
what he sees but cannot tell

I am not sure 
whether I want to know

and hold my breath till it is morning.

So viele schlaue Sprüche, alles schon gesagt, gab’s schon mal, wieder nix Neues, jaja, blabla, ermüdend, alles längst kartographiert. 

Adjusted

It’s restive and recalcitrant

Rebellious at times this spirit

Turning desire into passion

When clearing out what is true

Doesn’t assort any adjusted

Star spattered sky

Sealing crevices

I was here all the time

busy in my emptiness room

sealing crevices lest they augmented

while you were chafing your own way through

all my filling

I had stuffed into walls

making them stronger, dampening sounds

wailing out hopes

dreams and desires molding my mind.

As soon as I rest 

crevices grow 

ramifications I do not want

to come out of hiding.

Cracks could ease wounds 

of silken fingers digging through mold.

I keep myself busy

keep you afar, keep myself inside

stiffening walls

repeat myself, head on my hand

repeat myself, hand on my head

not daring to break what wrenches shoulders

and sprains my chest in unbearable pain

since I forget

breathing

in mediocrity and indifference.