When I feel that there is something higher
I feel, on the contrary, my body

Not looking from the depths
if there is a ladder, but
limitless, and then
I know It does not exist
as higher, but within everything
I touch, within everything I think
and inhale and exhale

What I feel is not the distance
but the proximity of the all
and I sigh from the depths
of my soul, which does not exist
the way I've learned, but
which is bodily, I feel it
when I feel that there is something higher

Hidden in a belly it begins
In a bank of black seeds
in the soil, in a blood biotope

in the cortex of the unborn
and then the unpredictable path
like every snowflake comes

to earth differently, every particle
touched on its way and
formed by unique contacts

into distinct faces
that attach and detach
germinate and split

into new old germ substance
of your species of life
Hidden in a belly it begins

Seek, and ye shall find
that the answer lies
beneath a new question

After God was found
and defined
as inconceivable
people called: Yes, but
that makes it a belief!
Paul wrote it down:

The old stories are no evidence
neither is the new story
no matter how blind I've been

Go and nail it on the doors!
And yet it must
exist, look at the wonders
around you, look at everything
You shouldn't seek at all
not define, but be aware

be open to it and let it
come and go, then you have found
it

I sleep well, I exercise and I eat
healthy, I can do everything

I want, my body works
I just keep going, I can
do without breaks

Do it the other way around
the teacher says
Thoughts can do a lot

but they are ghosts
above life, they know no death
and they look over suffering

I wish it was like that
then I wouldn't be sitting here
so uncomfortably

learning to silence
the chat box in my head

Sipping warmth
on my balcony
watching the fluxskies

Red geraniums, the full weight
of my soul resting on the earth –
sensual of well-being

my voice strolls and tells
it to a friend, andante:
the music that I am

Then at the table
the pencils arranged
draw in silence, merge

in creating, smiling
at the rainbow fan
of dry paintbrushes

little brush tails, small
penises in my sleigh of hand
(easy going)

Non-believers too
have everything - received:
the world, my life, your life
and the duty to help each other
Everything else is possible

nothing else can go right or wrong
In all languages we wish each other
peace and happiness, the good:

It is our chance and our mission
it is my name, which I don't want to exchange
and certainly wouldn't want to lack
from her clear mouth – she's an angel
everyone hears it, non-believers too

Alone in the empty movie theatre
between the carpets
my eyes in half-light

closed, back and thighs
firmly in the chair travelling
through the buzzing space

of busy traffic
of merging and outgoing
in the distance and somewhere

a song slides by
- familiar emotions
on exits without a destination

going around the network of roads
Therefore and because no one
would remember the song

it points out, in half-light, only half
the way, but this does not matter
in the one universe of the journey

Hope would be the worst
that slow poison that constantly torments
because it keeps you alive

Also the hell of the rest, unleashed
by the cleaners to whom I gave the keys
takes too long for me

Emotions are haunting around me
I run to the door
but the room stretches out

A man shouts: What do you want?
Laughing he blows away
Others start to whisper yellowish

I do need skates right now
I empty all the cupboards, heated
under the burning sun

so I have to undress
and know what I want
where I am

On the way, I make a map
of the roads to the roads
that I do not know yet
on the small earth of my body
within the large body of It

I learn what it needs
see the roses bloom
smell the fungi and recognize
by the mushrooms feelings
I have buried

in storage holes in the ground
of my body, my earth
On the way, I make a map
of my discoveries, of the truth
of life, my soul

the temporary skin
between inside and outside
tightened between human beings
an interface, touched
and read by a few

The dragon is hungry, biting
away my resistance, eating
my powers, sweet-I

is falling apart –
it just happens
and it hurts

I fight it with dragon-
killers, they do their best
my love runs back and forth

between other fronts
he doesn't tempt me
to what I need

what we could
draw a banning circle
so I just

retreat, observe where
in my battered inside
the dragon is roaring

for attention and love
for my best self
to be exposed

Another day
of manoeuvring

in the holy triangle
of languor, passion and harmony

In my blood, lethargy is floating
lazily along banks and jetties

It lies down
in the signal boxes

of my muscles and mood
as the prey of the fighters

who ignore the night
to make a party

of my life, now or never
a plaything

of higher powers that wait
what it is worth to me

to participate, out of desire
for happiness (not lasting long)

It's only the third day
I keep thinking, and also that
this doesn't bring me anything

My breath does, and the peace
since, for the time being, there’s nothing
to do about the facts of blood

stone, iron, the elements
of the periodic table
nothing to do, only to think

And that may be a bit less
the weighing and determining
of my advancing insight

what is good for me
in the attacks of chaos
and panic, only to think

of myself
as the creator
of my life

To have is not a verb
to have is very little
life, not the true one

Yes, I do
want to experience, enjoy
remain, therefore make
the world safer

starting with myself:
hello mirror image
today I want love

today I want to be
the two main verbs
make and be
make myself be

make you be
and then, that everything
stays with the new

Sex is nature, the soul

makes it happen, maybe
the cells come together
and the soul grows further

in a new body
which will become an old body
that feels its temporality

with a young mind

that counts the years
and cannot comprehend
to be the soul itself

that sets its mind
on new lives
of the eternally old and

eternally young soul

The teacher strays off
about the arts, useless
at first and afterwards
there is a use

With everything it has gone
like that, with language
it is repeated
at every birth

Babies try
to link
our sweet words
and motherese

to what is happening and thus
to come from provisional
to definite meanings
Step by step it gets useful

to talk to each other
even as a stranger
to the strangers
you don't understand

Ik denk eraan, voel het niet
toch moet het er zijn
op zijn minst even
moet het er geweest zijn

heel klein
nog groeiend
levend
wordend

onmerkbare trillingen
die me nieuwsgierig maken
wie ik zal zijn

een harmonie
van talloze trillingen
het heelal, de eenheid
van tijd

I am a vulture
and time is my prey
If it flies, I fly

faster, if it's past
I devour it
in my mind

digesting the flesh
of my experiences
and wearing out my body

until my beak is too weak
and time escapes
to its final ending

I am living in a box
a little box in a box
yes, robots can live

in tiny houses
without needs
except for the sun

spare parts once in a while
and commands to get out
of the rut of repetition

I am closed, a black box
that you can read
as if I were made of glass

and, you'll see: I am
a little box that thinks
out of the box

of my body
an echo-room
of the net

In the beginning man created
the thought: everything, mankind
and the earth, is a miracle
with a beginning

and anything that procreates
will die, only the sun
the stars and the stones
had no end, until later

infinity was conceived
and they even never had begun

so the rest, actually everything
that is known, the world
will have to perish one day

and, if you dare
to think it out, also
the elusive time

will not last and already now
nothing is left
but nullity

Lured into the cave
by curly hair
reflected on the ceiling
behind the entrance, I hope

to discover a wonder
not believing in an evil
spell that will rape me
on a chilly oyster bank

I shiver on the nail bed
that is cutting open my skin
while I repeat the mantra
It's not real, the knives

about to fall, the horror
of the maggots that slither
to my eyes and pop into
my head like dying fireworks

It's not real, It's not real
it's the cool of the mountain
it's ice drip and stalactites
it's the shiny glitter

of water on the wall, wonders
of pristine nature, feeding
my imagination with images
of what I don't want to do to her

It has already been two weeks
since we wrote to each other, rejoiced
weaving springs into a poem

about love in which we mix ourselves
with the candour of a friend
and our need for being connected

You rhyme with me
into an ethereal love, we create
daisies in waving fields

with kissing gates in the hawthorn
the golden keys shine
upon our hearts

Come in and play, dance
blind man's buff, reach and touch
each other's soul

Humans can be strong
like a bear, with a gun

or a cannon, and swim
like the fastest fish, with sails

or a motor, they can
even fly with large wings

that don't need to strike
and therefore are not real wings

An airplane is a thing
the true flyer is the Fly

All birds are jealous of it
because it wears the crown

of its name, credit
where credit is due: the Fly

Under my skull, my heaven firmament
is a world tree branching off
and that is me

Memories live there
in flashes of time
bounced at

from outside, here and there
lighting up to a memory
field, all sorts of things

in a fluent wave simultaneously
actively present, to muster
to be or not to be

a world of possibilities
all true for a second
or false and unnoticed

when the light extinguishes
and the flash of my knowing
hooks on to another memory

My heart never stops
it goes to the end

within the trinity of time
from the green dawn
of the day, getting myself
on my feet, rising again
from my destiny

jumping back into the stream
of experiences with the power
of my passion, swimming a stroke
every now and then, drifting along
a little and letting a lot pass

beauty and cruelty, waves
of feelings and caresses
of life under the foam
of my consciousness, the white soul
of time

The hour has struck
Immediately we forget the time
and wish each other all the best
and boredom

that blessed can do everything
with the peaceful ticking
of grandma's clock without the hands
of an agenda that calls Action!

New Year, the realization
that time in ourselves never passes
In one body we are years
of experiences that are not closed

but do themselves well
on new discoveries and occasionally
set us thinking
about how it all comes together