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in the end least some poetry will remain
about the past twenty years about chemistry and physics
which once upon a time worked quite naturally but now nonono
Poems from poetry collection „The Book of Roles“
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poetry can’t replace
the body’s sensual intimacy
and yellow blossoms swallowed
in the blink of an eye
Poems from the book “The Iron Weathervane”
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Nature knows no zero.
It’s just a hole in our time
Through which the cold continuously flows
Together with loneliness and fear.
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This is where
the world’s rusty wheels moan,
exuding the scents of burnt oil,
gunpowder, blood, and musk.
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You are, are, and are. One. One from infinity,
from an infinity of possibilities. An infinity of possibilities not to be.
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but no – he’s still functioning:
marching through the desert
cursing out Duracell
with his last words
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and finally there’d be
a merging of our souls, we’d live long happy lives,
run around in one small circle, die amicably, holding
paws, having treated ourselves to the same ratpoisonoflife.
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It took so long for me to hear
the hum of blood under my skin:
I understood the words of that song.
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I like ambivalent weather best –
neither sun, nor rain, nor cold, nor heat.
Just these clouds. Gray cumuli.
And one cup of coffee in the morning.
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then the knight, steed, dragon, peaks and moon
all shouted – harum harum –
and began to dance
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i’m moving in directions unknown. not all the tracts in these latitudes are passable. check-points, shakedowns, bribes. usually i just play dumb. now the border guards are patting down Dante.
