Brief

My lover
the wind divides the horizons
in your absence

I collide against
the engraving of the candle from the horologe.


The sleep of the wind

The rain crushing the forest's music
and the heart blue inside
the clock spurred
into a deep falling
and the anxiety of waiting
late steps at the beginning of thoughts
of season

the regretful arms
touching the sleep of the wind.


Piano pianissimo

Piano pianissimo-
the daffodil lightning stricken in the depths of a silence

my soul smoking over some sky
fragile hands rewriting
the failure of the horologe with weightless memory

who to connect
the knots of this season
as to free the light?


Pervert sound

Inside and outside cells rise
in the pervert sound
of the gong that drops its bronze
on its quiver
viper engraving flesh explosions
on the pain of Mozart's music

Brownian movement in dies Domini

in the insight mirror
always the Carpathian eye.


Thoughts

I remain on the eastern flight of the cranes
in the room that I keep my RO-GE-thoughts
and the absolute yellow quince
thrust into the childhood window

with the uncertain bite of my mother's breast
that I suffered for
and still
I am eating the bread slice in other horizons

I'll wash myself of tears
With some fresh ones
until I'll polish the pearl
on the pitch dark of estrangement.


Terrible

Uneven and premature
the gong from the wrecking zone
is yelling through the veins of the fragile world

terrible to imagine that you can tame
the wax candle
not writing forever
by reflex
secret poems
as if the final edition of the sky


Agonic hand

Be patient,you poem!I'll write you!
I still have left a piece of light
inside
and an illusion-slashed magnolia in the glass
flagged loneliness between me
and my shadow
but you need real blood
to dissipate

in the hourglass sand is taking the shortcut
the mirror ruining it's face with unrest
how to get you,the feline,outside
over the future snows
with agonic hands?


Vibration

Humanity, can You build me inside,
before the unfastening of the poppy
from it's own religion?

The sky is mastering the high metaphor -
the shadow of a violin.

Ah, some of them are already escaping
the vibration of the writing hand!


The screen of the world

The screen of the world is compressed.
I sit on the metaphysical sadness of a
jazz singer
chased from the skull.

A prophet is discerning the real,
the stars' pit
and the transparent salt of the zephyr.
Arrhythmic stained glass
in the tones of the subconscious.


Cut

Opened sky on to the heart between
pink pelargonium
openings cut into the world
a blood-stained coin threw
for a drop of moon

You left behind to read my straying
lifeless my name
wet mourning
on the meridians.


"Closed"

Closed" is the inscription of the world
the clock seems to refuse breathing,
you see the way the rocks pull
the clothing off the eyes
and let you lean on
into the eternal return.

God, I will liberate the dusk of the dust,
just let it softly flow!


The kiss as a speech

The kiss as a speech
on the stone lozenge
while in fact we want to miss
the pairing of vanities

extraordinary show of reason
to cast tenderness
at the rose
parting.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 13.01.2010

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