Friday, 22 June 2018

Till Death Do Us Join


a sloshed woman leaves an all-night shop
the door squeaks with the voice of a crying child
in the empty street the grim monotony of life
after yuletide in the foggy evening
the smell of coal smoke
first love without a body
walking with a blush on the face
before the global warming
snow used to fall water used to freeze
you leave the home of peaceful young age
you see God died without leaving a testament
neither old nor new
you think too many words too little poetry
then you do exactly the same
for nothing else can be done
you knock about at night like glass
empty fragile clinking
whoever will touch you will cut themselves
you ask where they buried those
with whom you played hide and seek
underground comes the answer
what louts are dead objects
they refuse to serve
you thought she would protect you
with her own body
till death do us part
till death do us join

Friday, 15 June 2018

Watching How Slowly


the future wanders off and disappears
into the cold fog outside of town
where withered fallows
the smell of a sewage plant
pure pleasure
left after the summer
the permafrost inside
our thoughts seldom
go back to the past
which isn’t even the past
see Faulkner
the stars shine when we’re asleep
we open our eyes
onto the dark morning
like a rusty lid
afraid that one day
we won’t want to return
up to now

Thursday, 7 June 2018

Give a Hand


Darkness in the valley
the tops still
yellow from the sun
the fool’s gold
you touch and go
down.

You are
a poor seller
you’ve only sold yourself.

Towards the end of August
on the parched lips of the backyard
drops of rain are falling.

You sensed that bitter taste
eating short days
fed with the melancholy
of a February dusk
the cold smell of early spring.

You’ve learnt to fear
frightened people
read Hegel while the peasantry
bark in the ditches.

You don’t know what to think
in the thickening dark
thinning snow.

Statues lose face
stony superficial
wind and rain debunk them
only wrinkles are true
deeply carved
bags under the eyes
full of unpoured sorrows.

And if someone suddenly
shot your head from behind
and then ate your flesh
pickled in brine
you’d be like a pig
that had fattened herself
for carnage.

Thursday, 17 May 2018

When You Die


When you die you don’t go anywhere
you stay here
don’t move
lie like a corpse
till nothing is left.

Death isn’t a passage or a return
this skull will never
cease to grin.

It grieves to part
with such a great sadness
it grieves to abandon it
for small joys.

One can see from afar
a farm in the field
one can see up close
a lying rake
without a middle tooth
a tired fork
leaning back against the cowshed door
a dunghill behind the barn
specked by turquoise flies
gilded by the evening sun.

The hen is overcome with drowsiness
twilight blinds her dead
eyes misted over by a grey film.

In your eyes there are
my old tears
standing in the corners as punishment
silent as dust.

May you live long enough
so that you can’t have a leak.

So what you don’t have a prostate
when long before death
you donated your brain
to anybody.


Thursday, 10 May 2018

Reasons


The reasons are various but all
as thin as glass over the abyss
beneath your feet
which breaks when you ponder
go don’t stop.

Her eyes fill
with that which she saw
swell for a moment
oppose the outpouring
her fluid effusiveness
on the edges of lids
forms a convex meniscus
and yet they flow
having overcome the barrier
of thinned hairs
the lashes aren’t the same
the dam’s too weak
it doesn’t hold so well
tears and urine
the wrinkles lead like drains
down towards earth.

She sat down
with her back to the window
the sun looks out
and she darkens.

Maybe one day
I’ll want to see
what the time that stands looks like
and I’ll stop your heart.


Friday, 27 April 2018

Eat the Spring Hare


From the livid cloud at dusk
darkness pours
on heads.

They can’t heal you but
they’ll cure you enough to know
that you’re ill.

Eat the spring hare
nothing can go to waste
die and rot.

Eat
when you can’t swallow it
mentally.

But before bipeds
devour the planet
roe deer graze near the forest.

Poor we richer and richer
of the whole pantheon
only one God left.

On the blue meadows
white lambs will lie down
all you need is die.

You were free and lonely
all year
all month
all day
and the night came.

Moonlight seeps
through the skin
anemic dream.

The rails sing when the train
arrives in your hometown.


Friday, 20 April 2018

Distant Fire


Before I knew it your shadow
turned into night.
Free of enlightened pollution
pure darkness of the soul.

The naked glossy buckthorn
stands like a woman who shed her dress
after the first frost
yellow leaves lie on the moss.

The jaw hewn in Mount Rushmore
and a soft heart.
Thoughts blacken
on contact with air.

You put a woolen scarf round the snowman’s neck
a thawing wind blows.
Ash like rain on our heads falls
a distant fire.