There is a fresh wind
there is a new world blowing
through the city, I see
my life in the distance

lying to my feet
Young men aspire to me
they give me everything that's needed
for the new time

They are the promise
I carry its torch
They are the deed
I am the promise

I promise heaven
on earth, my breasts
are full, my dress
is transparent

After every conception
I am a virgin again
After every conception
I am still a virgin

Dreaming, I wake up
in the house of my fears

without corridors, caught
between highwalls and spirits

folding themselves almighty
around my thoughts

slowly strangling them
or inflate them to black giants

who are hungry, who are smelling me
on the ledge of death and life

darkness engulfs me, pain
awakens me in the narrow channel

that presses me into the world again
and, along with the sun and the planets

flings me away in the equilibrium
of an ordinary loiterday

in the universe, out of the night
of my fears

My clothes are heavy, pack animals
with bags full of worries, I have them
washed when I sleep, dried
in the light of the moon, breathe

Water ripples in the dark
of the gorge between the mountains
here and there fireflies
wanting to sex, they dance

in front of me to the bay
the water is still warm
like when I was a child
with mama in the bath

her soft body
the sweet, lukewarm air
that I still can smell
in the light of the moon

I spread my arms and legs
like a peacock
and draw a circle around me
only my body is still here

There is quite some wind
the woman on the corner pulls her dog

She comes back again
for the rest an empty street, no visitors yet

The children do not call
there is no need to, if they come

for a good time, not being too busy
And there is no point

in saying anything about it
Maybe they are on the way

Could I have forgotten something?
The cookies are ready

the curtains are washed
there is no stain on my dress

There is so much more
than being happy
together
enjoying
a whole world

of life
radiant eyes
arms seeking me
yet being shaken
by a word

Alone

Near someone else
in his mind
vulnerable sad
going
my own way

Alone

There is so much more
than arguing
not trusting
what seems to be beautiful
a whole world

of words, shaking
arms, facts, illusions
of pink wishes
of love
hiding another love

To find your company
again, I walk
between two worlds

every day
I pass strangers
They are busy

I feel no warmth
in their breath, no warmth
in their renowned pursuits

I don't meet anyone
because here everything is
already said and done

and in the other world
where you are not
I eat and sleep

Without you, I can't stand
it there, rather I wander
through the danger

of my memories
with the enticing risk
of losing my way

Mealy-mouthed, the words send
you out of your house
out of your expectations
into the bush of hope
the white powder

that sticks to you
but is fading more and more
with your own bones and flesh
as the only support
for your thoughts

your Midgard, middle yard
of known regions, surrounded
by the endless of mountains
a jungle in the south
and the ocean in the west

where the serpent rules, the monster
the mealy mouth speaks of
to save you from its jaws
opened wide to devour
if you are afraid

An afternoon with father
he directs a play
in the patron's building and
meanwhile, I wander around
the attic, room after room
musty stuff from the past

saints that I don't know
of wood that I don't know
smoothly and shiny waxed
but fallen out of favour
only sometimes as an advocate
carried on a throne in a procession

here they are real
here I can smell them
and touch them, see
their look close up and feel it
upon me from heaven
questioningly I look at them

I think of America, the dream
of life giving you a smile
so exuberantly

the woman sings out
on the sign of Café the Laugh
Underneath it grows some moss

that takes life as it is
between the roof tiles on the sidewalk
It must

have been very stormy last night
but everyone was inside
and forgot the world

which is not as safe
as we wish, not as solid
as thought when it was built

Everywhere there grows some moss
that takes life as it is
also in America

Lost what does not exist
maybe myself, alone
between nothing, no before, no after

Just my sweetheart, and the thought
that he may be enough, but
how, however sweet

he is, not a father
showing my happiness
to my mother

who died prematurely, or not
now this won't happen –
a future lost

to another future
that I am sadly afraid of
at most, it can drown

in sorrow for the sorrow
that drowns me, lost
in the flow of time

My memory talks
to people just long enough
to get rid of them neatly
They don't demand answers
it's enough that I don't run away

Then why do I long
for contact, why don't I feel
anything? Because of the sense
that it is not possible
or is it due to the pills?

Will I get my body back
will I ever smell where I am
and no longer feel straight
through myself and others
with thin memories

from the time I learned
to behave
as if it matters
and I'm interesting
worth loving?

They slip in through a crack
between shame and decency
their bodies lie down

on the disposable covers
and smell the expectation
not the disinfectant

on my hands, not the rubber
around their longing, beating
for my proximity, their imagination

makes me desirable
the woman of their dreams
thought in the flesh

Outside, the Elephant waits
his eyes seem very small
peering inside

until the door opens
and his trunk searches for me
to swing me on his back

How would I be without words?
What would I be called

if a word being would name me?
How many words does it take

to make clear that you are like I
am

so that we can make contact
can tell what we think

and have experienced
then and then --

all fleeting events
that are kept

as in a poem --
in increasingly beautiful sentences

because they stand between us
as loneliness

Not a path, but an abyss
Cold wind, threatening clouds
It is inhospitable here

Diagonally in front of me
black leaves crunch open
Straight from the ground

Owls grow from them
they inflate themselves
thoughtful as they are

As if they could fly
they are close to the edge
to keep me from a false step

Behind me, I hear them
shrivel
When I look back quickly

the remnants pretend nothing
is going on, but if I do it calmy
they are completely gone

I didn't even live by a river
yet again I stare into the distance

at nothing, at the water
that cannot choose either

where it ends up
over which toxic grounds
and prickly expectations
diluted, frozen or eaten
by a thousand kilometers of sun

Black wings of homesickness
grow on my shoulders

but I know I'm covered
by the lion of my duties

to people like me
who once left somewhere
dreaming, to learn
that there is no way back
to their youth

A brief break on the road
too tired for a nap
or to really eat here, something
that they don't even have

It's no use
to take my coat off
I just keep that one
glove on as well

I wish I was at home, in bed
not those bright lights, not that
endless dark night
still to go

Daydreaming in the tower
of concrete, manning
the office, that's not too bad
on a sunny day

I just have to point
my nose out, count
the chimneys, and I don't
have to pay attention to clouds

Nobody comes
only me, in the morning
with a packed lunch
and a clean mind

for new ideas
about the people in the houses
below me, I know a few
who show themselves sometimes

Occasionally someone is looking
Then I play a role

in his head, as the girl
from the other side, the girl
with too long hair
to see her breasts well

In the shadow months
the apartment blocks remain gloomy
Then I close the curtains
and wander through the pattern

in this same soft chair
in which I am completely free
and experience my firmness
breathing inwards from the outside

knowing what it is
to exist -- then it's nice
to be nude and play to be naked
and seduce someone

with what I could
desire and do
in broad daylight
if I were not alone

It is too high here
and too empty, and that man
over there is observing me
so awkwardly

He apparently has nothing
to do, he's knotted up and keeps
looking past me, squinting
at my breasts

His second cigarette
does not soothe him either
his thumb is tense
of desire

I can't go anywhere
there are no stores in this quarter
to escape
if he trails behind me

Should I just nod
to him, kindly
as the sunlight
and have a chat?

On the low steps in front
of the open door
in the empty street

a man is sitting
with crossed arms
his lips sucking

a cigar --
thick lips, never
may they kiss me

He peeps up
to my belly --
the sneak

in uncrushable work clothes
free from overt suspicions
but never someone looks back

He is politely avoided
with a nod, quick steps
and thoughts to forget

The door is open
Something happened and I
don't dare to move

Was there a man?
Where are her clothes?
What is this smell?

Should I call the police?
Her hand lies protectively
between her legs

Did she hear me?
She doesn't look up, something
is wrong, she is despondently

slumped against the bed
the sheets pulled to the floor
under her bare lower body

the clip still in her hair

The woman behind my sister
looks outside, and her husband
is also busy

with his own thoughts
I wonder why
she herself looks past me

although she wanted to bridge
the distance she felt
and now I feel the same

She has changed
her breasts are too full
in the tight sweater

and her lipstick is too red
so unapproachably girlish
under the helmet of her hat

We have finished our tea
They'll stare us out
if we don't order a new pot

The stone is smooth, always cool
always the same blue
and at home in my pocket

We arrived and we are on the way
We live and stay
at this hotel today

The view is wonderfully boring
You hear the trains rush
over the passing track

Jeanette has taken off her travel clothes
She's reading, it's too early
to go down for dinner

We're doing well together, there's enough
to do, in between the breaks, enough
to see in nothing special

if you have an eye for it
and give caring attention
to others

as heir of a piece of world

The silent life lies on the cemetery
right here, the new life rages
past it over iron bars
and this makes me crazy, it thunders
through the rooms where I played

I empty them out and I smoke them out
with Nag Champa, with tears
in my eyes I close the windows
and still the walls get thicker
from the raging, they eat it up

just like me, it haunts my mind
that there is a smell in the basement
where mammy in the rocking chair
commands that I am not as sweet
as her new friend

but I don't want a new friend
I want everything as it was
slow and simple
quiet and familiar, silence
without a graveyard

On the veranda, we wait
for coolness, a fresh shower
Only with us there is light

Nobody sees us
nobody is at home
What is he thinking of?

Not of me, fortunately
I'm already hot
in my underwear

I keep quiet
otherwise he'll fancy
and that takes me too long

The nights are so short
we need sleep
no sweaty sex

On assigned holidays
I step out of the order
of my work into the row
for useful relaxation

The grain comes up
the sun breeds the grains
and colours the winter out of our skin

Everything is included, extras
can be booked on site
and appropriately enjoyed
in one of the wings

Thus we fly laps
in our dreams for a week
enjoying our role

although there is always someone
who doesn't participate, hooking
on to the back with a book
that he could have read at home

without disturbing others
in their well-deserved vacation
of exclusive behaviour

The sun falls diagonally
along the shadow of the extension
upon the threshold of the house
upon the woman in the door

What did draw her
to this outpost of the old?

where there is no path anymore
to get there
where there is no fence, no border
where everything is open, empty

without a beginning
of going somewhere

There's a chink in the curtains
her long shirt falls open
and her body senses
a presence

something
going to happen

I get too fat
I can't go anywhere
The grass is too high

Not for Collie
She feels at home here
For me it's a fairy tale

of Grimm, the forest is dark
it makes sounds all night
and it pushes against the house

which is not as beautiful as it seems
with the luxury glass, the frills
and the canopy above the door

It's hard working all day
In the evening we look at the dog's
running, until bedtime

How did we come in?
Can we just peg out again
to the right there, and
are the WCs behind this door?

Are we here or do we play it?
The city is asleep, are we asleep
when everyone lives?

Can we touch each other
and let each other blush, or are we
shadows on the empty scene
of our alienation?

What are we doing here, in this scenery
of deceased peace? Are we dreaming
of last masterstrokes?

The sandwich and the drinks are real
the round room is not a stage
it throws a lighthouse light
into empty streets -- a beacon

that attracts night-moths
warning everyone
to stay away from here

Wishing to live
in the city without
its burden, above

the chimneys, cleanly
swinging in grandma's chair
in front of the bay window

seeing the dormant mouths
of the pocked roofs
wake up without

having to smell their poison
and then also breathe it
out of solidarity with everyone

who has to live fast
in the stone world
where everything is hard

The sky is burning, mists
push forward, the signs tilt down --
Everyone lives longer

than the world in which he grew up
He has to withdraw
or change

The watchtower is unmanned
dogs whine in the distance
This city may no longer exist

as it was, its theaters
have been declared unnecessary
The last players watch

but now it is real
they find it difficult to enjoy
the beauty of the downfall

that, since hundreds of generations
has been flattening glorious empires
to heroic stories

Who will, without self-interest
sing the praises of the good
that I have known?

You rushed thunderclouds
and blew the warmth
away, you blew away
I dream you

safe in my love
under waterfalls of happiness
I dream and dream
and dream again

but it keeps snowing
Is there a coat against the cold?
Is there a coat with thick pockets?
Is there a coat warm enough?

Come in my arms, with magic
you get everything you wish
Put on your blue dress
and shake your hair loose

I dream you
safe in our love
With magic the sun shines
With magic you smile at me

Too small for news
from all over the world, I
sigh, it haunts inside me
and I doubt

the future, mankind
and all the miracles
that love should
and I would like to perform

Madness haunts
the mass cities, the streets
full of shops, full of problems
that threaten business

The dead lie around sloppy
I'm dreaming of a ghost
It's me, the Saviour
Superwoman without a super-

goddess, without prayers
and laws, if possible
Only the plagues will
always be a danger

Tired of travelling
station after station
through my full agenda

Stepped out to stand still
but the madness thunders
into the blue room

deep in the underground
hotel, where nothing changes
or it isn't conspicuous

Freed from the world
the mess at home, the stains
on the floor, rest at last

Nothing distracts me
from the mystery
of sex and the speed

of life
and of the despair
with which I dream

of not belonging here
powerless, put aside
like an alien

The Beast is free, we kiss
outside the wall around
the Beauty of your fidelity

Of course we want to be
good, not stun ourselves
or stay in bed

to dream of big deeds -
figuring them out step by step
within far too many rules

We kiss, we are free
Nothing can hurt us today
We are each other's Hero

Our Love is a big deed
out of sight of the watchtowers
on the wall against our desires

Happily Ever After
on The Wall across
my home, Berlin
is my Berlin

Yet I leaf through
a travel magazine, the sea
beckons, the mountains call
echoes Action! Action!

A man smiles at me
We are angels, I give
him my fear, lend
him my room

I need to go, away
from alone, be more
than my work, promise
someone loyalty

And now he is gone
With broken dreams
everything is only half

I need to go outside
I can go every which way
but it's the same everywhere

The bargains, the hypes
Left right forward backwards
everyone in a row

Left right forward backwards
I will not participate
It is no good

It has nothing to do with me
I spit out my anger
and I crawl behind the window

I see people meekly
I look into their eyes
nobody is home

Looking far ahead doesn't make sense
hopefully, hoping does
I'm still young

At home, Lonely Hearts sing
in a band, far from our room
where I hold your hand

We put a rainbow
of flowers in the windowsill
and we praise the hard workers

The fires of the light are blasting
outside, but love cannot harm us
We no longer have expectations

Doctors cannot help us
against the riot in the streets
It is everyone for himself

Girls have stains on their dress
Tramps climb the sidewalk
Beggars are burping at dinner

The flames flutter in top
above the citadel of the gang
of rich people everyone knows

Let me my habits
Let me, let me inside
Give me a shelter
Give me a kiss

     Take me
     Protect me
     Give me your magic
     Give me what I need

Then I'll give you my blood
I will pump it outwards
I will blood on your belly
I will blood in your mouth

     Danger is everywhere
     just a blow away
     Love is everywhere
     just a kiss away

Happiness is elusive
The pie turns around
Happiness is elusively
nearby

     Let me bleed
     in your storm
     Let me bleed
     in your heart

     I here, you there
     Apart together
     Our love a bed
     full of missing

On my way home
weak from desire
for all days
with our family

     I here, you there
     Apart together
     Our love a bed
     full of missing

Wild, wild horses
cannot separate us
Wild, wild horses
we will ride

     I here, you there
     Apart together
     Our love a bed
     full of missing

Pupils are grown
properly raised
to be good Mouths
in the shopping society

They are hungry
for another life
but there are laws
and police forces

for those who do not participate
and complain about lack
of opportunities, but believe me
I figured it out:

It can't happen here
Mama Mia, not here
Do not worry
We are safe

Fellow countrymen, everyone can choose
there is a parliament for sale
     If you don't choose, you don't participate
there are nations, as many as you like
new mums and daddies
     They have plastic thoughts
With a button you open daddy's hand
for this week's pocket money
     Plastic stinks when it melts
There are nice little cars
convertibles and antiques
     Your salary goes to the factory
dogs and little balls: poo
and blood for the car accident
     The factory belongs to all of us
removable intestines
stretchers and body bags
     It stinks when it melts
New is the DeLuxe box
     But love is not plastic
with screeching, screaming and sirens
     Love is not for sale

Any way the wind blows
that's where people fall in love
until the poison stops working
your loved one pulls out
the arrow and makes you cry

No more sweet words
only the popular songs
about your own pitifulness
the widespread disbelief
in real real love

and the general envy
of cheap sensations, as if
people wish for nothing else
and have nothing more
to offer than that

Beware, wherever you are
there is always a fountain of love
nearby, where the world stands still
from timeless happiness
sealed with a coin

The parties fell silent
all fuss ran away
from the cafes and the streets
And the sky turned pale

We no longer participate
as long as it is winter
and we can do without
Only the absolute necessary

we'll buy, we'll maintain nothing
that sustains the occupation
its land bite, people bite
Freedom bite

Our blood flows, our breath
makes us appear at our most beautiful
crystal after crystal
Untouched

We will die a new life
in the hearts of the soldiers
once vulnerably kiss spring
awake in them

You don't know why
don't even know the difference
between the rain and my tears

You have no idea
of the sea, which is for you
what the earth is for me

And what is heaven for me
you don't have to understand
It escapes me as well

just like you elude
my hand and my feelings
elude my will

Well, what do I know
about humans and animals
about breathing in the soil?

And then there are the angels
if they exist, the choirs
who praise God about everything

and the messengers who speak
what is true and just
Listen, I cry

for their wise words
that death is no mystery
but an encouragement to live

Who are you, you elusive
mermaid in my story
of desire and boredom?

My story, my story
of shipwreck and beach
beach, beach, pebble beach

Washed ashore, thirsty
and shivering of exhaustion
awakened by the hot sun

Beach, beach, pebble beach
washed ashore, delirious
from hunger and alone
all alone with you

dancing in the waves of the sea
the sea, the sea, the waving sea
and my story, only my story

is sailing past this beach
beach, beach, pebble beach
mama, mama, grandma

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday
Thursday, Friday, I'm doing my best
come soon, soon, don't leave me alone

Thousands of slaves of The Saviour run
bent over to a place to sit, belly to buttock
nose in the back, sections full of light pink
shoulders under the violet
shaved crowns

to open the brain
under sun and moon
to the Great Soul
and to gain self-knowledge
from the mirrors around you

the exchangeable bodies that
under the discipline of loneliness
among silent fellow sufferers
no longer can die
from everyday life's dangers

Everywhere you see yourself
among the hard faces
of armed guards
and you cling to
the changing of the light

the rustle of rain and
scents brought by the wind
He laughs best who laughs last
But what kind of laugh is that?
A laugh which is not shared...

Crippled, skinny gull
puddles in the potholes
of empty streets

holes in the walls
the school closed, no one
who could leave stayed

after the riots
no one who was released
from the cells

Losses have been taken
suitcases packed
the water shut off

Old town, dead harbour
where I was at home and would
have liked to come back

clean your white stairs
turn on your lights, please
turn on, turn on again

The old failure is dragged up
by a fanatic who wants to try
again, in glowing words

he tells the dream
as a promise, a duty
yes, that is our culture

to live worry-free and worry
telling stories
like in the blank ages

without prophets who want to
be consistent and threatening
with hell and damnation

sell a sacred promise
of peace and health
for compliance

What we think we have
we would lose
if we don't give it up

Then rather give us a king
or a general, rather anything
then wait for the hereafter

Qui - et   qui - et   qui - et

Space is shooting away
over the panorama window

Nebulae around our spiral dive
back into the ocean, Captain Colin
hovers us through echoes of life
signals in the round suite

20.000 hours is far, lying down
on bean bags, we drink from crystal
and live in eternity
There is no news

The two-year-old girl
points out the starfish
her sister is sleeping
in mammy's lap

The sonar manoeuvres us
through deeply tuned shadows
in the searchlights, the murky darkness
of the unseasonable, moonless night

until we wash ashore in a fjord

My house has large beds
in which naked people groan
and girls are raped
by other people's loneliness

The guests pay for
washing the curtains
which their soft hands stroke
after the night

They don't expect calluses
from the day, they rearrange
and they smell, they don't pick the flowers
themselves, they live inside

where they are content
without achievements, because
the world is exhausting
if one wishes to change it

and spring admits no delay
life must be lived, enjoyed
since no one spoils you
better than you do

Everything has its time
the princes and the tyrants
the noble and the rich elite
the rights of liberty
equality and brotherhood
the incitement of the people
and again the king
our hero, our champion

I just have to
to make the best of it
My life is too short
for active resistance
for a more ideal later
which can only reach
its time after years
of quiet growth

Until then we just have to
be patient and
be satisfied
with each other's fears
vices, ugly
and nice words
out of impotence
to take care of each other

My house has smooth tiles
walls, white-washed by the avengers
from the clotted necessity
to eliminate

those who look down on others
who work behind smoke screens
who can't be reasoned with
or are otherwise different

From the casings of the bullets
with which they are stunned
a machine spins spools
full of copper wire

for the electric skeleton
of the world, which conduct everything
and levels facts, science and beauty
until many anger explodes

Maybe it is vain madness
in your eyes, in a heated head
it is inevitably
the poetry of resistance

My house has bells
against sleep-passion, everywhere
where there is a hand
to press the button

The light stays on
there are no blindfolds
We are awake
of fatigue, fighting

against the gloom of the rut
and the shriveling of everything
So much to be experienced
and there is always more

within reach, if you slalom shrewdly
and do not attract the attention
of righteous people
with a show

The curtains closed
against envy and criticism
The loot is captured
the bells are waiting