Slow, lingering death of feelings

Breathe while you count

 

release what is hidden and breathe out

 

in the nettles lies God’s hope

 

scream out all your gold

 

your center completely at rest

 

you fold the root of the harvest

 

I dawn upon you

 

you are yourself so eel-like

 

breathe the day’s lake into me

 

neck rising from the nearest ditch

 

you sleep so sweetly

 

in the slow, tenacious death of feelings.

 

 

 

Merely washing your feet

 

coolness ignites your glow

 

the frogs are croaking

 

for your extinct self

 

merely drawing the curtain aside

 

laying a blanket over your body

 

makes the room touch the sun’s rays

 

death, leprously covered in a runny nose.

 

 

 

Breathe through the day’s mire

 

neck rising from the nearest ditch

 

my dearly beloved green meadow

 

for the slow, tenacious death of feelings.

 

 

 

Stop at the number you have reached

 

it pours out of your mumbling

 

up the nearest gable wall

 

a gunshot rang out

 

your outline

 

drawn in chalk

 

the day breathes through its circles

 

very dry in the throat

 

the colors die at twelve o'clock

 

the flag hangs limp

 

eggs emptying from the crown of my head

 

just standing there, staring.

 

 

 

Breathe, draw in the air

 

breathe out all your hopes

 

lift the houses up from my extinct self

 

in your sleep

 

lives the slow, tenacious death of feelings. 

Your lips flap the yard’s horses

 

it is the slow, lingering death of feelings

 

and you’re a fraud

 

for the slow, lingering death of feelings

 

a clean arse to toot through

 

it is the slow, lingering death of feelings

 

slow, lingering death of feelings

 

slow, lingering death of feelings

 

slow, lingering death of feelings.

 

 

 

It has been snowing late

 

It has been snowing late

it has moved the light

further into darkness

it has been snowing late

much later

than this late

I slept

it has slept so short

and enlightened the dawn

it has been snowing so late

just as late

like my narrowed eyes

it has been snowing late snow

and not managed to wake up

a single trace

it has been snowing so late

before pisscross stood up

it has been snowing so late

so late, so late

it has been snowing late

to the peace of your soul

it has been snowing late

so late

so late

so late

it has been snowing late.

 

Lift

 

I lift the deep

I lift the tower

I lift the shadows

that became decades long

I lift the boundless

up above its discreet hedge

I lift the drop

I lift the writing out of its bark

and make sure that the debt can thaw.

 

 

I lift a drop on a raw cold morning

I am the drop when it freezes

and the tears of the fog also cling

when the walls of the warm days 

sit and stare right through me.

 

 

I lift a drop on a cold morning

I am a drop when it freezes

and the tears of the fog also cling

when the hot questions cry and call.

 

Lifts the morning darkness

lifts the moon's seal

it is the drop of morning darkness

which is the weapon in your hand

I overturn floors in the totem of sorrow

I clutch what you left behind

and the shadows are saved in your breath.

 

 

I lift a drop on a cold morning

I am a drop when it freezes

and the tears of the fog also cling

when they feel seriously coming  close.

 

 

I lift a drop on a cold morning

I am a drop when it freezes

and the nights are frozen

and the drops from the thaw on the roof

catch

and rise

me up.

 

 

 

Golden hedges

 

 

The wound belt cries frogs rolling thunder

sideways to cry therefore

did you hear the cry that June night?

Deaf and grokky 

you lay in the grass and slept

and forward drove

the yellow joyspots of snakes

over your toes.

 

Do you still measure our search 

each toe rubs a hole

sits as on an awl

and babbles with same obviousness

swimming pool of yolk

fertilization so close

we bang princes and princesses

while the nights give us 

back our hearing.

 

Touch the space

the croaking of frogs

your full presence

golden hedges

surround the second birth

indebted knuckles

touching the golden signals 

haunted beech forest colonnade

we dwell in the body of ancient prayers

something rises

give you the voice of songbirds

this applies from now on

this also applies to tomorrow

as part of the journey.

 

 

Life paths

 

So listen to everything that is buzzing

and give a taxi home

to count the sentences

you have heard during the day

when you shouted very loudly

and spoke the time

you touched native language behind the veil.

A gift one must say it was

you carried a shovelful and stirred tissue

from the family tree

rock by rock you ate presence

and the nights asked you

if your speech was the sound of ocean

the foaming desire and the restless sound

and much more than that 

the naughty tissue of your second birth.

The harvest eats your hesitation and your doubt

completely groky presence 

                of recognized happiness

completely groky presence of enigmatic heaviness.

You also banged the thick silent reeds

the sooty typos of tottering towers

and much more than that you ask cheekily

for birth tissue and to be born again

that's how you reach your goal.

Up where we suck deep

and give a taxi home

and the gifts are webs of swirls

and we suck green pots

eat again eat once more

and float through nights

even teeth start to whine in tears

and the sound of the ocean's roar

pulls the shuttle through your eye.

Another world's sound 

dives through the tissue and asks and sucks

it is the palate that even in its own words 

lifts the body of mighty rock

a light of light lifts your tissue 

above the dog sled

just for you

and lifts the moss a millimeter above the rock

and detaches itself 

from the saved touches your rough tongue

so that you are ignited in twinkling inner flames

and lifts you deep and moved above the deep.

You remember the gift of the pots

you take the light of tissue with you

and you choose to open yourself 

              to the next question

you rise up foam-born and the sound is heard

fables of grace

and you hail a taxi home

to your drawer you pull

its gift of riddles that will be snowing

and the gifts rise in swirls from green pots

like lone seagulls in the night.

Love is why

 

Because love is round and tall

because silent words blow the mind

because my red thoughts go through the meadow

I call the flowers quietly to your soil

because they seem to know

love is therefore

love is why

the dreams of the new

love makes me young

love is blue

love goes round

it turns a wonder

because because

love blows

and remains your fall because

because the world is on my mind

is reason enough for everything that happened

pieces of heavenly

is everything

across

external words

your return is shadows remember

we spread like mushrooms on dead hands

it is a loud silent cry

the blue wonder goes into light very quietly

can you hear

it sounds in love

but the other eye still cries

can you remember

dead soft cells calls

love is why

flower are you

a broken stone

a country where it rains

and falling apart

in dreams you know

in a very quiet country

falls into the ground

as colored

voice

out of the blue

all be will

still through pillow

eyes are feathers that fall to red bed

overturned like a country you can speak

a red avenue

the known

is it

I have dropped out

and it's like

in a room like yours

standing still

love is why

love is therefore

love is why.

 

Cauldron of fire

 

The sleeping bag is ready

it's just a matter of choosing a place to go

that's how I've always felt

and that's how I feel tonight

a place where the day reads itself

a place with a hiding place I can be in

that's how I've always felt

I just didn't know until now

the sound of bells calls me

draws me to the secret place

the sound of bells

draws me with a ringing in my ears.

 

I have put my dreams in the cauldron of fire

I have put my dreams in the cauldron of fire

you are my angel

you are my angel

in the high window's night of dress

in the widows' fluttering madness

you are my angel above

now I bury myself

somewhere in the forest

somewhere in the forest

where I must not be either.

 

A voice rules within me

call a spade a spade

you are my beloved

you are my requiem

everything you hold

and whistle through

and put your fingers on

vibrates with the voice I hear inside

your kisses seem to lead me 

from island to island

so ready are your kisses

that I cannot die.

 

I have put my dreams in the cauldron of fire

I have put my dreams in the cauldron of fire

you are my angel

you are my angel

in the high window's night of dress

in the widows' fluttering madness

you are my angel above

now I bury myself

somewhere in the forest

somewhere in the forest

where I must not be either.

 

Resurrection

 

Snake blind behind the curtain

forgetful avalanche misses

cunning pirate driver

stunning colossus

your cow's head wets

the anthill's lifeline

the anthill's lifeline

the anthill's lifeline

until it’s all white.

 

Snake blind behind the curtain

bite by bite because you stretch out your arm 

no punch

just a lift up through the air

and down on all fours

until it’s all white.

 

The anthill's lifeline

the anthill's lifeline

the anthill's lifeline

on the third day resurrection.

 

Snake blind behind the curtain

broom glory around your spade

broom halos over the infantile of the tow truck

homecoming

until it’s all white.

 

On the third day resurrection

from the anthill's lifeline

the anthill's lifeline

the anthill's lifeline

until it’s all white.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wet falling

 

Wet falling

on a wave so full of cradletoes

out in the night lake

walking for joy

wet falling

walking through space

ah ah ah

wet falling

walking through space

walking

walking the oar

wet falling

drenching with wetness

in the glow of the disappearing sun

in the glow of sleeping bodies

color liquids

wet falling

like shavings from a planer

like crumbs from a saw

serrated waves

naked requiem

ah ah ah

wet falling

drifting wet in a boat

on a sea of ​​sleepy

requiem pickers

killer whales

ah ah ah

as planer shavings

like star sparks

wet falling

through space

wet falling

on a wave full of cradletoes

out in the night lake

walking for joy

walking for joy

walking the oar

ah ah ah

ah ah ah

ah ah ah

on the sea. 

 











 

BAR

 

Kasse

farve

bar

blidt

blik.

 

Case

color

bar

gentle

glance.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

Too recently

 

Naughty eggs at eleven o'clock

in the golden debt of the wasteland

on the toes of another day

all that was before

locked into someone you knew.

 

Sin and beaten

the shadow of everyone you knew

the day before yesterday 

the dead bosses died

filled up with wraps.

 

All of them shaved

and clipped toenails

all the deep

toenails stared down

all robbed in love

for a moment's enjoyment.

 

The smoke and the heat and the clouds

drifts across the wasteland.

 

If it's all fucked up

and death dies the gods of spirits

if it is done

if it's all fucked up

and death dies the gods of spirits

and the ferries sail

because it's all fucked up.

 

So kind

with narrow eye slits

so hot

beyond the sea

so sunken

the dry warm duvet

over someone's lingonberry egg

such a heat

beyond the sea.

 

In the loom

where we wait and weave

the clouds together

together like this.

 

Naughty eggs at eleven o'clock

in the golden debt of the wasteland

too recently

all all too recently

too recently.