Before the
dog was to be walked
you walked
the path of vision
you walked
our visions like nothingness
and
mentioned your face completely drained
if the
dog's breath was all there was
and the
silver fox of your voice
stood in
the mush of dialect
you walked
our visions like nothingness.
There was
nothing
nothing you
could say
nothing you
could do
nothing,
nothing at all
a little
while ago I loved you so much
it was all
in my mind
I had to
leave it behind
I had to
let it go
I had to
walk the dog.
Zen falls
in line with Saint Joergen
the zen of
labor slams the Rolls Royce
and the
guest lights up like a gentleman
and rolls
his vision over the stage
zen falls
in line with Saint Joergen
the zen of
labor slaps the guest
which gives
up between two sentences
so you have
to listen to them again
the guest
rolls his eyes brightly
zen falls
in line with Saint Joergen
the zen of
labor strikes the deaf
wheelchairs leave the light
with baskets full of hunger
to let them themselves
wave the flag of emotions
over the
barking of dogs
zen falls
in line with Saint Joergen
the zen of
labor hits the finish line in the Pyeners
foot breaks
through yellow magic whistle
to be here
with us
we are all
guests who light up
in a smile
zen falls
in line with Saint Joergen
the zen of
labor slams the flaps of the fans
this is how
Haiti draws its consul
just before
you extend your hand
and touches
the rolling
camera
zen falls
in line with Saint Joergen
the zen of
labor is already hitting
the guest's
luminous hand gestures
that lets
characters be characters
not to talk
about anything else
zen falls
in line with Saint Joergen
labor zen
slams oozing zen
Saint Joergen
smiles now and then for a long time
zen falls
in line with Saint Joergen
who looks
happy
such as a
happy man
is Saint Joergen,
Saint Joergen, Saint Joergen.
A thousand pitfalls
twist like thin animals
ready like puzzles
peacocks play chess
with swans
weave requiems into the
sky's carpet.
Birds are your thoughts
they fly with full
alert
every creature is your
word
cats sit on your heart
right where it hurts.
The landscape is an
image
and when you return to
it
you enter into yourself
surrounded by the glow
of image.
Birds are your thoughts
they fly with full
alert
every creature is your
word
cats sit on your heart
right where it hurts.
Even Mozart's Requiem
is a ghost train
through the landscape
the imagery opens its
first chapter
in a swarm of sleepers
each time a theme
returns home to itself
with an obvious whir
of homecoming and
farewell
each time you go to
sleep
each time you hear a
ghost train passing by.
A thousand pitfalls
twist like thin animals
ready like puzzles
peacocks play chess
with swans
weave requiems into the
sky's carpet.
Birds are your thoughts
they fly with full
alert
every creature is your
word
cats sit on your heart
right where it hurts.
Jogging, jogging all
day
jogging, jogging,
jogging
jogging, jogging all
day
jogging, jogging, jogging
what are you up to?
are you down on your
knees
or are you just in for
a fight
even the common and
naughty meeting, yup
your cucumber salad
makes you deaf
maybe you're just too
deep
it meets you in the
ford
with all your courage
it rules and moves you
gathers your crosses
wept did they forget
your roots, roots
naughty quilts lifted
over you
it gathers in your
rhythm
and becomes familiar to
you
you are alto sax
it is the same as you
want so many notes out
you are crucified
crucified crucified
you are vättelys
breathed alive in space
you are vättelys
breathed alive in space
it rules and moves you
gathers your crosses
wept did they forget
your roots, roots
naughty quilts lifted
over you
it gathers in your
rhythm
before it was just
threads like the white of an egg
purposeful seagulls
saw you standing and
being cow
breathing out
and they rule and touch
you
collect your crosses
screaming they forgot
your roots, roots
naughty quilts lift
over you
rise to give beak
you are vättelys
blown alive in space
you are vättelys
blown alive in space
out to exercise
jogging, jogging all day
jogging, jogging
breathing out
do you think you will
hit first
into the room
out of the room
with a thousand shining
arms.
A great comfort I won't
be cheated of
so charred the birds'
wings take off
out of themselves the
pots rumble
the cuckoos' pitiful caw
after the passing of
towering clouds
a sea that sinks and
sinks its dolphins
and all the weapons you
load your sentences with.
That comfort withdraws
debt-free
slow gifts to give
I empty the hysterical
recognition of dead
seagulls like hail-born
seagulls
your hairstyle is so
sick that the shadows mash
you talk like porridge
you sleep in
a sea that sinks and
sinks its dolphins.
Bach
Brahms
Beethoven
Bizet
Bartok
Bernstein
Berlioz
Puccini
Prokofiev
Pachelbel
Pérotin
Mozart
Meyerbeer
Mendelssohn
Monteverdi
Mussorgsky
Myers
Margaret Bonds
Debussy
Donizetti
Dvorak
Ravel
Rameau
Rachmaninov
Rossini
Ligeti
Liszt
Léonin
Villa-Lobos
Vivaldi
Verdi
Henryk Wieniawksi
Józef Wieniawksi
Widor
Wagner
Vaughan Williams
Gould
Ginastera
Glazunov
Gershwin
Grieg
Gounod
Golijov
Kreisler
Marie Jaëll
Chopin
Fauré
Falla
Orff
R. Strauss
Stravinsky
Saint-Saëns
Scarletti
Sibelius
Schumann
Schubert
Scriabin
Carlos Salzedo
Sjostakovitj
Imorgen Holst
Herbert Howells
Haydn
Händel
Tárrega
Tchaikovskij.
A few years ago
we got silvered
questions we
barely danced so fondly
questions that
lay like anthems on the tongue
death breathed
the moon of death oh so fondly.
Death takes your poison
& weighs your cold index fingers
this is how it
helps your innate wounds
the older you
get
the more a
question stares through the coffin lid
the spirit of
the question breathes on you.
The knife edge
of the voice challenges you
give yourself to
your breath oh so fondly
the wrinkles
lift you into the salvation of light
and stir
something in you that makes you fondly.
Give us gendered
kitchens
and give us the
clucking laughter of voices
you ask every
crack you encounter like this
this is how
gifts give themselves in return
while you shout
into the abyss
the spirit of
the question breathes on you.
I ask for
forgiveness
the gray
darkness has overpowered
the hardest
guilt to get rid of
is guilt for
something you didn't do
ask Christ wide
awake in your abyss
the spirit of
questioning breathes on you.
The banner of imminent death
waves above your head
and you wave it
oh so affectionately
the gift of a
thousand angels
cries in your
affectionate voice
the spirit of
questioning breathes on you.
I feed demons
like others feed ducks
but my bread is far
finer sifted
it is ground light
if it were not to reach
into myself as it
counts riddles
it would hardly grow
another peat out of the
darkness from its hesitation.
Eleven frogs sleep here
at the bottom of the pond
the joyful mud sings the songs
of the eels in a symphony of scissors
do you stir the birds
when the smoke comes near
your pole is made to
gather the threads
in your distress you
are carefree with joy
crying into the
haystack of your next resistance
the light slowly
returns
to the leaves you
breathe out of your throat
the skin speaks to the
self of the temple tree
here you stand in the
ashes of lies
a thousand angels suck
the bomb back
into its mushroom cloud.
Your rifle is a shadow
of itself
it went with the
mushrooms
you couldn't guard
because your dog was
sick with laughter
then see how your dog
becomes deaf
from the fullness of
the universe
you yourself see the
sea coming
out of the quiet garden
of your eyes
such a quiet cry
through all the walls
your hood is an egg of
the evening prayer of crying.
Of course the seagulls
are seven pillars of your soul
you all must scream
your indistinctness
no one can hit a UFO
because it is made of
God's wings of fire.
We are here in our
thousands
we are here for you to
see us
we want to be seen
that is why there are
lights on our vessels
we are here to wake you
from your sleep
the sleep where you believe
you are the sole ruling people of the planet
you must not do any more harm to the planet earth
we are watching you
and we will stay so
that you do no more stupid things
stay in your own
destiny
which is about to be
resolved.
You could all stand on
a lawn so green
and the man with the
highest aura
could stand among you
and the lawn would just
be lawn
and you could all be
here anyway
the grass would be as
green as ever.
I am awakened
I am staying awake
I am staying away
I am staying all in
I am awakened.
You think chance is
grace itself
and you are peat that
peeks forth
with the jewel of
chance around your neck
and your grace soon
sleeps into its grace
and your sleep breathes
so tenderly all day
your shadow lies under the blanket
with you as a wasteland.
I am awakened
I am staying awake
I am staying away
I am staying all in
I am awakened.
The shadows stand hard outlined
sleep split like a torn quilt
poor north wall aged like a femur.
You can whistle through from ear to ear
not even the mating cry of the hawk
can drown out the traffic.
Two ladies in a narrow alley
one of them with foxy eyes
the other with a wedding dress made of wind.
Tell what they are tearing you
lift the wasteland with seagulls company
before the weeping wall.
You must pull the frost from oh & oh
pout lifts the scarcely tamed dreams
cackling boy barely yet full June.
Cry the fallen grey weather
you are leaf-springing fruitfulness
the butterfly has jumped out of its cage.
It was frog legs by the load
and a card full of eels reaching out
because twists completed your gifts
and grew beyond the turf at the farthest tip
two triangle turning opposite each other
in front of Buddha's lap
with the night
as an exclamation mark
in the left hand
and shadow sun that blow away foggy creaks
crumpled tire wings
you put on the day
when someone so clearly
celebrated a new millenium
of green fences
around young cheering necks.
Before the
stars go silent
sweet
colors are reborn
deaf
visions are harvested
wet days so
bewildered
will later
disappear
for here
the rocks are galaxies
that divide
the sea in two
touching both sides
is the tissue
the globe
lives in
before the
stars go silent.
Velvet foot in September
is the open entrance to winter
the bare knots of poplars
call them up in great bunches.
The deaf thief is a guest-seeker
spiders pupate eggs in cracks
sunflower husks are peeled staves of church
toes stick out through the porch.
You lift the threads of birch
you open the colors of twilight
you reveal solid mists
you undress the falling
phases of sorrow
you test the dense veil
of vase
you peel away the
virginal grip
you become one with a
downy milk cap
you pull a robe of
windy threads around you
and become the shining
eyes of earth.
Be green mouths almost
out
ready to breathe the
voice's lit plush
then are the pierced
leaves
kiss that knocks on
you hardly feel the
skin being filled out.
Your Shelleyhand laying
in the water
where everything are
colorful as bones
just a sincle plant I
call my own
you're not a king for
your throne.
You breathe your youth
yourself
heavy as a hugged teddy
bear
feel how the nut cracks
like a sudden pixie
book
you crack in until the
prayer pole ignites you fully.
Your Shelleyhand laying
in the water
where everything are
colorful as bones
just a sincle plant I
call my own
you're not a king for
your throne.
You don't write a novel with a rifle
until you cover the sound with your hood
aiming for an apple
and if you shoot the floor
you cover the ceiling
and while you regret your actions
do you shoot again
and do you mary her
in a long distance relationship
with the tomb of the unknown
everything drains you and reaps your mistakes
as you regret everything about it
the lonely martyrdom chooses you
and you remember your desolate martyrdom
leaning over you and starting
to rattle the keys
while you still look through that keyhole
the desolate shot
against a curtain
behind which
seagulls are plummeting
towards your bare skull.
