The Devil

There was Satan behind our backs

Walking with us on the London Bridge

I didn’t know

but you probably were aware of it

judging by the level of your paranoia

For me, just slightly off, romantic darkly

Everything was perfect.

Now the love is gone,

The war is on, which was then just hanging in our verses –

I would like to have a pink house with a white porcelain in it,

You could go in,

You could go out,

no pressure,

The problem is, I don’t have a palace,

no single room of independence –

I guess, that’s fate,

What can I do

Some people loose in checkers.

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His Hero’s journey – Poem nr. Jan.9

His hero’s journey

what a nonsense but wait –

So he actually believes that he is not just a big (vast) emptiness?

He actually sees something when he closes his eyes?

Not darkness to escape from?

Well, that’s actually refreshing (to be honest)

after those endless years of Nietzsche

and abortion gangs

(I’m really terribly sorry to say that).

 

something new –

like an addiction

like fresh grass

like summer

like horseback riding.

 

 

 

 

Black holes of insomnia

                            I am afraid I will die and go into the dark

                            holes holes holes

                            I am disintegrating

                            into holes

                            I need to patch myself up

                            my mind is in the black night house

                            my eyes are useless and blind

                            I see only darkness when I close my eyes

‘Shrill of a Citizen’ – a poem

Those ones who are going to die unfulfilled

covered in scratchy mean sand

with their minds full of headaches and hate

wishing everyday to escape this prison and pain

those ones who can’t be alive

who toll the life like a duty point of honor to survive

full of hostility in the sea of enemies

wishing to leave their families

once forever

take a train and cross the great wall

instead of sitting at the computer

and collect the bills of misery

the rightful slaves of society

a quiet scream into the darkness

in their tiny apartments at night

Abandoned family

Here he comes

when she comes into her grave

stiff legs

dark, empty, no help

she is dead

white hair

collapsed chest

horror

spilled tea

silence

no breath

I have no place to go

no place to hide

from reality

we are alone

nobody calls

we go

to buy her

nice cardboard shoes