How

so all may rejoice

I would like to write something beautiful but tattered chains

march across

the silence of these white pages

so all my rejoice


I would like to say something pleasant but my fleeing words

echo and fall

into convulsive oblivion

so all may rejoice


I would love to gently caress but daggers

daggers

protrude from my warm hands

so all may rejoice

so we may rejoice

but how


today again

ransacked silent houses broken

sightless windows a world of

lost garden paths

here I am today again

sharing your loneliness

entreaty

if we are rivers to non-existing seas

waterfalls at the end of the world falling into oblivion without a splash or breezes trapped

in a room Lord, have mercy

if we are flaming stoves on open mountain tops birds flapping

in airless skies

or solitary diners listening to laughter from the next table


Lord, have mercy

if we hear the clicking of knives

with approaching footsteps see grinding teeth behind every smile

or shudder at every sound Lord, have mercy

if we stare at fireplaces from the road

grope

in the dying light of hearths or marvel in pain

at unknown stars Lord, have mercy


b e g g i n g for your arrival

in memory of János Matyó who took antidepressants approximately five times a day and apart from alleviating my loneliness

was no one special

will you be arriving tomorrow? look how the dead lie!

the wind is hissing through the window cracks can you hear it?

calmness arrived yesterday without a word

and your messenger left the same way

maybe he is strolling now among the living

in the piled-up valleys

his cooled impression in the corner looking at you

can you see it?

a hand bleeds through the walls of that crumbling coffin!


look perhaps that flower

is reaching towards you sclerosis multiplex

on the grave begging for your arrival

in the reflection of my eyes


a tap in the night

we crossed the road

the blind man hesitantly tapped away with his white cane and the sounds

continued

tapping in me

I can see hear

speak

walk

I am not an idiot

I am

exactly me

and why not me

I could have easily been him but I am not

the pill didn’t precede me I was not aborted

or choked by the umbilical cord

didn’t get rickets or become pockmarked I received Sabin drops in time

I am here

exactly here like this

right now

exactly like this exactly now

exactly here


existing for a while as life’s tattered tent

so a few flowers may bloom in this kind of life

a bloom of one life like some stock character in a play

written by many others

everyone acting in the same drama together in the same scene playing

and I am your vision

and you are my blindness and all of us for each of us

in our weakness and strength

the sounds slowly tap away new ones emerge quietly

I wonder where I left my self behind

still holding the cane with that blind man I’m not sure

but I know

all those tapping sounds echo in all of us all of them inside me

my eyes open painfully with the blind man I can hear and speak

guarding those living treasures until faith blooms again or until all tapping ceases in the light


somewhere today

somewhere a door is open somewhere the sun shines somehow I can’t find you today somehow the words are stuck

I saw a house without a door handle sat beside a freezing hearth listened to the faceless silence

and my heart slowly chilled

because something slipped out of place because an unknown sound intensified because a cry could be heard

and I had nothing to say

yet somewhere a door is open and somewhere the sun shines


the cave of eternal life

in your heart trees and bushes become bare

and the snow falls

deep inside in a frozen light your roots shiver

the night spreads

you are a man even if it hurts

and understand that you and the cosmos are one

you discover that you are one with the amputated sky with everything you are always one

and in your memory God sits on top of the cave

of eternal life


patiently

shed your worn out worries

bathe yourself in the light of dawn

and when the stars are blanketed in cloud stretch out on your soul’s promised land with a plough

measure the cosmos in yourself whisper quietly

to the silence

and gently bandage your bleeding limbs torn out of your imaginary sky

let the earth cover your sorrow bury it among the rest

spread the dew of liberating silence on the mounds at dawn when the wild flowers

are blooming

open your doors and windows

to the homeless wind

when all that was planted is ready walk around and dismantle

all dividing walls


dig deeper inside yourself desire scorches the earth from your clean cool well fill your bucket to the rim to bathe the face

of your wandering sorrow

start your journey into the yearning void to tame

the chained trees

and in the warmth of your calloused hands hide their jerking pain

so they may become smooth like the wrinkles on your face

step into

your home of affliction scream on fevered beds with renewed faith cling to your future

and stretch like a cross above your destruction

wind with the tireless road and bundle up your nests of orphaned loneliness

and if a begging blind man collapses on your shoulder

spread out beneath him and patiently wait for the man from Nazareth


blessing

when I starved for company you shared the bread of time

when I thirsted for words of understanding you shared the wine of your attention

when I froze in faceless everyday loneliness you dressed me in golden robes of human contact

when I was alone weak and groping along the dusty path of my past you approached me from the lively trail of life

so I could find my way home again in this changing world

when I was sick because my partners and all I knew were swallowed by the grave

you searched me out in my sad stale room of affliction

when my shaking legs and ridiculous age were locked in a prison of faded memories you opened the doors of my prison

come, come you chosen ones it is my Father in his kingdom who will bless you now


blessed state

sometimes the night swims

in the light with the darkness of the day and sometimes one hand

slips into another so you say

one day all blackboards will be wiped clean and all bonfires will cease

in me in you

one of us will always turn to ash first and one of us will always be born before the other

always

the world continues to orbit in empty space

and whatever grows also stretches outside

inside

becoming heavier and heavier

like a pregnant woman’s abdomen


anarchy

reading graffiti

anarchy not chaos

but rule without order

these are the lines that greet me

on the eve of Árpád bridge

as I trickle under the Buda side from the north in the wave of traffic

watermelon rinds on the dock

yes

this greets me in a city

where there is no real order

only controls they are all scraping

short or tall on the hills under a single

blue-cushioned dome scraping unaware untiring

stepping on each other for glass marbles


postmodern end-of-the-century cave dwellers renters of human form

down below all of us

in a handful of pulsing dust

leftover dreams scraps of order who knows how many strutting in the light

blessed or begging waiting for a miracle that feast

may it happen for its own ends when that wounded convalescent time

sits down finally at the table with history

rule without order reading

to myself in reverse chaos

not anarchy

yes

that’s what greets me in the city


perhaps today

a rare word floats in undetected and embraces you

in the surrounding noise

perhaps today the panting of trees will ease


how many dead

how many dead will fall on each square centimeter of earth

how many lives extinguished let’s say, during unceasing wars in homes swept away

or as victims of crime

don’t just flip the pages because its boring you are alive

they too were not prepared for their death

look around carefully

in your housecoat and slippers they are sitting in front of your TV

or strolling with you on a sunny Sunday afternoon the dead

through them you too are touched by the knife, the bullet

the house also collapses on top of you and you too squirm to your grave so they can push you in


they are waiting for you hoping to do

what they couldn’t do

except scream during their own torn end what will happen to your mother

my child

who will repair the barn who will slice the bread if there is any

did you ever measure death by square centimeters in yourself


birth

on what sort of nuptial dawn life emerges

with screeching pain from a waist-deep sky pushed onto the world this tax of nine months paid in full and more

body ripped in blood in a life-long dance

of conjugal bond what kind of pain wails from that soft wax throat


before dawn

we are crystallized points for infinity

still living tombs

moving rising coffins

for unborn worlds shabby owners of scattered confidence constricted accounts before dawn


in the path of taut bows

sisters escaping in slumber ripening in beauty

how many welcoming climbing passions rose on a heat wave

in your mother’s hidden twisted sanctuary that warm nest

waiting excitedly sweating crimson exhausted

so the circular door of life may open

and from beyond the forest over the mounds

in front of a swarming army

a feverish driving team may gallop in victory to a red apple heart

breaking into the womb so the stiff quivering tree of life

that captivating snake with its promise

of slippery generations may rest

how many desires surfaced in vain

how many were washed away in a flood of blood

planted in soiled graves


how many completed their work in the warm light exhausted by joy

while imagination meandered on a chilled bed during defeated lonely nights

how many were filled with roaming thoughts and how many injuries of the heart were woven in

your father’s secret workshop where restless millions swarmed in a rich storehouse bulging

to capacity

on their epic journey breaking through their prison walls

escaping

how many were swept away during nights of chaotic dreams or in the fire of rainbow-filled days stuck in an immense twosome

on a hill, frozen outside the heat of deep red caves without strength to cross the blockades

or left behind in the race challenged by the heat blasting into battle

through the barrel of a cannon how many restless victories snaked around aimlessly without effect

because a lap wasn’t offered by that imaginary woman of Eden


only waiting in anticipation

in the depth of their dark prison cell or already wilted flowers

dying

how many desires chased each other for so long

without effect

till finally in the path of two taut tireless bows you started to rise

uncertain of your flight path

a rainbow dream of muddy skies a human face left behind

after a momentary meeting of two worlds


always one



captive

ageless my existence

in matter

is without borders through me life emerges I am time

a guiding light and the sun dies in me

radiating or fading all faces are mine my touch is a dream all that is desired

I am lacking all wait for me yet I am alone

sounds

are homeless in me listening through deaf ears restlessly searching for growing words

giving birth silently to all songs and music follow me pencils and brushes chase me

a desired image for a sculptor's knife yet mute wordless and without form


imagination flows through me

a source of blooming flowers

all that is material physical or spiritual is trapped in the net

of non-existence without me I am the origin of the abyss as well as a bridge starving but full

warmed by absolute zero sweating in the coolness of nothingness

walking without a compass becoming every road homeless yet at home yearning to arrive everywhere

a destination

of hope and farewell fleeting and everlasting moments

I

who forever remain nothing

and everything


claypot

it started when I was born perhaps before

waking under a torn canopy of stars among broken rocks

continents ripened inside me starving animals gnawed each other in my heart

and hunting bullets chased my dreams

destruction flows out of me daily

it will destroy me if I don’t

let it go

I am free

how can I confess you light and guard you

for my own

becoming bloodier stumbling and falling so I could not confess you

I am your captive

without you only an incomprehensible wound remains


I would still like to set the table for all I know put clean sheets on nuptial beds

shed tears by the grave

play with electric trains among children and plough my own garden

what a light you are

to be able to take all this without movement

I have been waiting for so long often believing

this must be you I have surrendered

and continue my work knowing that you are here somewhere

while silence and darkness live in my soul

hold onto their leash so they can’t consume me

because you are here somewhere all the crosses are bloody

yet I know

I am captured by your still movement this is today

not tomorrow or yesterday

a choice between destruction and life

life

even if it is broken

don’t drop me

I am only a fragile clay pot


a little relief

the wind is crying today chased by the rain

news clinging to its sweaty back forgiveness doesn’t stream down peacefulness for its rest

tired leaves of dust sprouting everywhere

orphaned filthy mass treading on rainbow dreams in his heart

mounds of garbage

nodding with compassion towards the sky its music is mercy

released towards the ground

its green heart and peaceful tiny birds’ nests ripped by insatiable pain

who was it stuck to where in this mud and why isn't there a little relief in sight


occasionally it dries up

occasionally

the avalanche of a word buries you or the sun’s rays spike through

choking

on a lap of stale smiles in your collapsed existence you bleed through the night

and once in a while you die when nihilism blooms

at the foot of worn out crosses

then you wander like a mourning army

as life emerges again from the mortuary feeling your veil

torn by the wind

because once in a while you die and once in a while come to life because occasionally

chains wither

and occasionally all sorrow dries up


measured in years

hardly standing on my feet hardly standing

seeing my castle become a grave seeing my bed

looking at the flames subsiding looking at the ashes

feeling the dreams subside feeling the end

the word hardly ripened in me it hardly ripened

hearing my voice subside hearing the silence

plaster and decoration falling stars falling

light and fever fading Tomorrow fading

barely on this side of Existence barely here

life is invitation without feeling invitation only

gathering of poison gathering deep inside measureless

years measure our limited unasked for blood


when the apples fall

how: drugs gas rope

or falling from a bridge into the valley

the wheels are rattling they are all lying

during an autumn dusk leaving in silence when the apples

fall

into someone’s open lap before the worms are full

let our pain ripen

tidy up your table quietly someone else will tie a bow on our dossiers

one day in freedom


winter dawn

sounds bathe in whiteness

the horizon stretches in whiteness

you arrived with crystal troops during the night suffered through all passions

and by dawn untangled our grip on hell

everyone slowly untangled

as icicles bloomed on the shackles of our memories

you are this too

but still the world of winter dawn falls in a blaze

on full-grown horror and suffering

yet I know

that when you come to stay there will be

no winter or summer


it’s also a fact

1.

the light sat around in the dust

on its lap

the world dressed in pain miracle of miracles

and look it found time

for a Sunday afternoon spirit

perhaps

as the shadows of comprehension were slowly forgotten

along with whipped words stolen yesterdays and intense colors

their origins perhaps were all forgotten

perhaps

it’s also possible that he merely wanted to embrace

and bless a child before

it starved to death


and that wind-beaten old man who lay in his own filth without notice

for four days

while two starved cats gnawed at his side it was winter

and the stench reached

his good neighbors so slowly

it’s also possible that above all he merely loved this colorful life

the brown branches in fall hope fainting in a winter night

the silence

on the eyes of a frozen sparrow or the scent

of freshly plowed fields while dew drops

on the lap of meadows became rambling roads for swarming butterflies

with their abdomens swollen in July

in short, all this is possible


the fact is that somewhere under the ground a tiny dead fold started to shine like an dinner star for a famished

army of eager worms

who knows how but it’s also a fact

that on any holiday appropriate smiles emerge

on idiotically beaten faces

and on the bleeding but un-suffering walls of slaughterhouses

as the light sits around in the dust

on the lap of the world dressed in pain in a Sunday afternoon

spirit


2.

in the silence

a gently beaded smile your life

a string on a lute sign language for the deaf that's what you are to me

as the light nests on the throats of birds

dreaming of the scent of dawn that’s how you start out daily towards me

that’s how you arrive

with your arrival the night is hushed

above those who will never rise above all the sweaty

living Cain’s a tiny primrose remains a secret

like the deepening wrinkles on my face

you nestle into my eyes and ears

between these flaming cages


and behold bloody angels labor

in an undescribable ray of light melodies shiver

on their wounded cheeks while dreams sit on trees and ineffable goodness shines

the unnamed the faceless

are all one millionth of an inch above the Dead Sea


daily

daily you kill a dream

between seven in the morning and ten at night

what will happen if one day you can’t find it

because it gets bored

and moves in with someone else


sounds of night by the lake

1.

a few morsels of light

shine on the mirrored surface of the lake and on the trash on shore

that world

slowly fades into the void unreachable

with dry feet

look

the shore is watched by a hydroplane

somewhere a blue sky is in flight

from above somewhere our terrain is visible

2.

sitting on the shore torn out of today eyelids flapping like sails what kind of worlds open close and embrace

around us


meandering

effervescent dreams teardrops released by the Sun meandering

on an aimless road under a toothless wrinkled sky


grand river

hand and pen at rest their days written by emptiness

the grand river sluggishly carried a leaky ark while the wind played on its filthy froth

aware of the shore

as the water lapped at my heels pain etched on the membrane of my eyes

I saw the seismic rising of unmarked graves endless marching masses and unborn kings

statutes, codices, stone tablets and cities heaved up

with ethereal and earthly melodies

caskets rocking in a cradle the massive river rocking a laboring womb

an eternal crypt


an inviting rambling murmuring requiem entrancing sounds for everyone

the grand river humming

rays of light grating on its froth on broken masts and peddles all that drifts below

days written by emptiness


new world

help

the Moon was stolen

they baked it and sliced it

you can buy some one slice at a time

the sign reads: recommended portion one slice

per meal


what’s next



before I go away

quietly bring your chair over

so I may lay my head on your lap

before I go away

don’t say a word about the falling leaves

tell me instead about the blooming apple trees

before I go away

listen for the coming of dawn and ignore the vanishing sun before I go away


maybe

maybe you need the blue and the green

to forget yesterday once in a while

the Sky or the Earth hides a new tomorrow from you


perhaps enough

an eye full of dreams

a skull full of life

a hand full of peace

perhaps enough

and an embraceable me

and a heart-warming you

that’s what you thought


c o l o r dropped from the sky



how lazy the flames are today

how slow the light

even dreams are bored with dreaming

and blue

dropped its color from the sky


what tames

what tames the trees in fall

where does peace come from in the winter garden what kind of light

sustains a wilting flower why aren’t dreams estranged

from the earth


blooming

you have seen the world frozen lived through several springs know your Sun will rise again and dead flowers

bloom


under the snow

your days are fasting

indigestible dreams lie

silently beneath the snow

startled chicks beneath the orphaned snow

the frost this worldly frost

laughs at their downy wings fragments of other-worldly wonder

dawn frozen in winter spring songs

will not emerge from the throats of birds

water’s life giving force will not flow today with music

from your frozen heart


burial

do not wound, do not wound do not kill a dream

do not consume blooming spring visions

do not snow, do not blow frozen breath

on the flames of summer but ripen your fruit in sunshine

do not cry with the October sky or foolishly fall with

a cheeky fly

do not laugh, do not laugh with cynical winter

soon there will be burial under the insolent ice


on my rags of boredom

seven-league boot was stolen by a thought

departing from its grey refuge my skull

imagination secretly severed my wings escaping to find

a better place

dressed as a fancy frivolous king for a ball emptiness wove its future on my rags of boredom

my spirit stepped out during the night today it can’t be found

hope bleeds in front of the house my heart is empty


what’s next

you took a pattern from the light tied up the dawn

spied on the sun through your telescope

and fragmented the universe under your microscope

dissected living buds probed for a heart

collected the flight of birds and sorted the winds in your sack

photographed the big bang patched up faded moods imprisoned the end of the world and drained pain from the trees

you spread the sky on a slice of bread added a measure of Milky Way spiced it with ground rainbows

and ate the seeds of dreams

and now you will play the violin on the rays of the sun

what’s next


indiscrete questions

whose doorhandle are you turning for sky-propping vertebrae

how far does your umbilical cord reach for pride

at which counter do you queue for a little independence

whose affection gives you originality


clear as a bell

a hidden light

in the corner of your eye a lifeless smile between your wrinkles

your wings fattened in silence thrown aside

like seasonal flowers that once brought beautiful dreams now chewed by moths

conquered

like your wooden horses, dolls or tussled dreams orphaned

like the summer of your childhood or that homeless and mute

word

your youth devoured with worries while today

security occupied your seal


but you’re nothing more or less than

the prodigal son

desire will not carry you further than this earthly trough

where one day you will be discovered

and your name

will be whispered clearly in your ear

your new name

the one written on your forehead for which you fought

and indulged in so much depravity robbing yourself

till you became a beggar

yes

your name will be whispered in your ear clear as a bell


surrender



lonely nights

in my thinning red hair

grey strands spy on the clearing

where dandruff grazes

my waxed ears trumpet at my gum castle

the walls of Jericho and its towers collapse in my mouth filling in missing teeth

from caves

on the mountain top of my sniffling nose shadows gather

soon perhaps to sunbathe with a blemish sitting nearby


in the courtyard of my betraying eyes flabby years backpack and camp

with eyelashes and eyebrows above them

for shade

beggars live in my wrinkles lonely nights

in their hands while Cain and Abel scream in pain

on my forehead



it happens sometimes

1.

who knows how it happened

the whimsical sky suddenly smiled

on its secret journey or you merely opened towards the blue

it doesn’t matter how somehow

it’s you

not the embodied restlessness

or the worn-out paths of a tiny circle

not the damp wriggling in your hands

not the measured low-level flame of a choked unconfessed absurdity this time not a quietly feverish dream and not sobriety

on the covered ruins of Eden


not the ecstasy of elated sounds

and answering rhythm or the polyphony

of expanding tense opening pores behind closing eyelids

and not even the collapsing ceiling or the gashing rainbow of fists

or the orphaned clothes falling on top of each other inside-out

on a heaving floor or a hefty

naked heaven’s muddy flight not the coolness

of the waves of body-length full sweaty fluttering relief

and not the horizontal play of chasing worries

in the labyrinth of thought or the crumbled

dipped reflections

in the mirror of your soul somewhere in an eye socket


not the sweat from wall-to-wall self-imprisonment

in the dungeon of awareness soulless

chain rattling in flight not the suffering

of nothing plus nothing seventy kilos of boredom a suite full of empty space woven into your faith the pressing un-secretive secret

of trenches and cover

from a force-field of crippling nuclear hate not the lies of man-sized masks now

who knows how it happened who cares anyway

this is really you


2.

it’s you

good quiet kind heart-warming

a morsel of bread

shadows swarmed out of your eyes flying sparkling

higher and higher

like that light in the corner garden inhaled by inpatients and gladiolas and an old porcupine

you, dear

stepped out from my wild dreams now you greet me

my newborn sister true magic

my precious, my star

all good

holding your hand your touch is a dream

with your head on my shoulder

your modest glance becomes the only glow

what’s going to happen now


a mischievous smile on bread and water we aren’t alone at this point

wild beasts tamed on a leash of confidence in a crystal bowl

or marbles on the road under your feet

trying to guess my name

the one that will be written on our foreheads while quietly repeating

my dear this is really you


3.

if you move to the right it’s down below

if you move to the left it’s the same

no more forward or backward no more walking on the spot either with eyes open

or closed

there are no more open roads from here there is only flight or free-falling rapture

into a new abyss

of unparalleled darkness

you ran dragging yourself to this point occasionally alone

like a sleeper woken by a fever of budding strength a prisoner seeking light

or a wounded animal protecting its young like this

opening torn

by millions of years on the lap of thick space

unconsciously craving for you


suckling on the galactic mammary your dreams waltzing on the Milky Way in a tiny nest orbiting

the fiery road of its starry eye

waiting for your flight to see if it’s in you the Good News

will reach them today

you ran dragging yourself on the floating terrain of this Rock

laughing as your bleeding soles impregnated

the torn earth

giving birth to your ripened offspring because that is what’s here compulsion in a covered phoenix and compassion

for the mercilessly ordered ordeal


yes

in everything those unforgettable torn dreams

in everything slumbering secrets

yes

you see it this way

once in a while you even live through the meaning of this ocean pouring into your tiny life

a flight on pathways of ether

so don’t be afraid

fly


precisely

you give thanks for things never given or promised

and wait for exactly that what is impossible to forget you forget precisely that



you

you are not surprised only suffering through reliving brighter days when your arms were roving embraces your eyes

unknown stars your ears

a nest for wandering sounds

and your mouth

a fertile womb for words

your legs

those two self propelled stumbling peccadillos your legs

a meandering hidden dream


a word

a spoken word

the sanctity of the word confessed to be

the meaning of your life

may it capture and create true miracles without equal

from itself, in itself

may it give birth unceasingly to orphaned parents enthusiastic youth

playful children wide eyed seers a voice in summer a flight in winter

defiantly singing the songs of crickets tangling with the wind above the waves while slipping into a den

may it consume and burn mounds of filth liberate feelings with slumbering sensations as it flows over the

sunny universe

may it strum without fingers a splitting lute smoking wick crackling reed

may the voice entice clearly

yearning for a new path bravely constantly


only as the trees fall

only that which has never been only when there is no one only till your voice fades

only as the trees fall


who knows


t h e r e can be no sowing without hope



how many thousand steps have you taken today steps absorbed by the desert while all your tomorrows wait in the doctor’s office and your muse

dreams in your pocket in drug induced sleep under shabby stars left behind by cigarette smoke while damnation peels off your back and your voice is

a flowering spider web

the rocks

don’t speak to each other in the graveyard animals don’t cry

as slumbering shadows fill the night

there can be no sowing without hope


hope among the knives

if a saw dances for a tree wreaths stand on their heads and roots shed tears:

I implore you, be near

if day oscillates with night or falls for pleasure in twilight when clouds are bleeding:

I implore you, be near

if our eyes are planted in loneliness words nailed to a cross

and ears quartered: I implore you, be near

for us

hope only blooms among the knives



the sun could fall

during my faded existence I sometimes become words dressed in song and dance chasing secrets

there is no afterlife then and the sun could fall because I find everything under my lids


in the end

the road hung over a clothesline rocked by the wind

the Sun stepped through an open garden gate

bristling hair roots were smoothed

and broken wax-seals drank

the light


not in vain

silence spills from the trees fish are singing wheat ripens in the barn

and dry branches bloom

my waiting has not been in vain

blue mountains grow legs rivers

rejoice fallen valleys are cleansed and all tears wiped away

pinch me am I dreaming


near dawn

say it quietly arrival

whisper to yourself today

look at the Moon how full it is how its dream is ringing

look at the trees

the sigh of their branches against the sky and see how flower petals

strive to kiss the light

birds look for their songs in the night

while our wrinkled funeral tents are embraced by a tint of blue in silence

an idea has been hatching for years

its shadow beckoning spring on the road of your suffering waiting for your awakening among the tombstones in

the grass a rare dawn hides

perhaps today it will greet you


nothing special

nothing special happened

the factory next door didn’t swallow its smoke no one ploughed up our roads

the trees didn’t change the roots of our legless existence and waves in an asphalt ocean didn’t suddenly begin to

move

a handful of dreams

fight among universal compulsions here on another faraway ancient tidal wave continually hoping and weeping

in defiance till our skeletons perish forever

rooted in the ground with frost in their eyes

so, in short, nothing special happened nothing special I can tell

except perhaps that suddenly everything changed

trees rejoiced

green embraced with blue and black on the factory wall

as my uneasy voice fainted away on a light wave of air and my face became dust

quietly resting on a nameless appellation soothed by heaven’s breath


in the dark

nine goblins nine ways spread the night

sleeping houses sleeping guards none saw as the trees

grass and anthills disappeared in the blinding darkness

of the shadow world

and none saw that shiny silent lazy lone carp

perhaps that is enough of a story and you know how it ends

if you listen patiently

to the dreamy carp’s chatter his dreams are reflected

on his scales in the flickering light

you know if the sun shines for someone else it still remains the sun

the night is only a mother’s lap its child is the dawn


how is it

how black the night how black the universe and death

look how black death is

but nothingness has no color

how colorful the flowers how brilliant the days and the people

look how colorful the people are

yet happiness has no color

how white birth is how white the light and Easter

look how white Easter is

but God is not white


friday night

a retreating hand falls shuffling feet stop

eyes close ears enfold

and the tongue jerks once more

a door is waiting to be opened someone circles your heart

you nestle into his wounds stick out from his ribs like a dagger

and become a nail in his feet

he is bleeding on your cross

why are you waiting for trumpets tonight is only Friday night


blood for the bread

whose blood flowed more yours

or mine it’s painful

I didn’t know

I wounded you again

are you hiding in me or I in you

this too, I don’t know there is a bond between us sealed with blood collecting its daily tax without satisfaction

my words promised you a new life

hundreds of times but the price is painful on your cross, on my cross only you and I

again

I beg you, come today to collect our blood in the challis

for the bread


prodigal son

how many years now

the Sun rose in you

dreams danced on your every nerve cell while at home under a strange sky the minutes of the day spoke to you

your marrow boiling universal clay welded on your tongue

you partitioned the sky for everyone

because you believed saw and heard

even though the blue was beaded in black inside us they planted light years and budding roads

under the twilight of the universe in our mud woven beds

you have sinned for the sky sinned for your father now it’s best if you rise


two voices

... one day when hearts and dreams are disarmed

and the screaming void behind the iris is tamed

filled at last with all

those tiny insatiable bits of knowledge in short

when the oceans finally spill over

and the chasms of the big bang embrace again while the tomb of the first dawn rises

in short

when that last degree of Hopelessness is reached at the end of the world

past a Sea of blood and tears and beyond the

Entombed Dreams

of black holes ...

... there and then but I am cold now

and have nowhere to sleep



my tomorrows stolen by my own voice ...



... you know that an iceberg of indifference can melt

occasionally a smile slides past customs and borders

and sometimes even the traffic between our islands

is no longer dangerous you have long been familiar with the sleepless nights of money the unredeemable ordeal of power

or become acquainted with the merciless dullness of the day after smutty desires

but you know that once in a while our roots sprout again

and sometimes the light is more human if pain gleams through

and yes, you know

that occasionally you do win when you triumph ...

... they said my neighbor won the lottery his cancer receded

and he attended my son’s funeral

even shedding some tears ...



... only this before I become mute towards you before I pass on this small quantity of redemption

and finally lose my school allowance in short, the “bloody dawns”

are also painful to me

that dazed drugged snickering in the dust in front of my house

with the shadow

of that long dead junk man on the wall

who knows how long we will be listening till icebergs melt away and all our voids

are blooming ...

... maybe if you would finally stop the newly risen Sun and I could listen to the silence

in the spreading fog of light

as the Moon sets with the Stars ...




night by the lakeshore

a flaming candelabra tips over

and a frail tussled dusk lights up

wrestling with the wistful night

still it’s pinned down again today

a veil spreads over trees and grass

and the voluptuous earth weds with the night the meadow opens

it’s sweaty lap like the sky above its starry eyes

my tired mind

chats a little here and there with the sluggish lake wondering what will survive the dawn of the

vanishing sun



the past

in my empty hands quietly whispers to

its playful surroundings alone

standing on shore listening for the direction of the road’s call


calling with laughter

sometimes you say your most beautiful words

after the silence of a disclosed vision

and sometimes you relieve our suffering even if our bluebird wings

don’t stir

since I have found you and come to love you I know

my life without you

is like a reactor without a core on a blooming meadow

our dreams

our stubborn dreams how unreal they are piercing

your laughing words call us to a dream of a different future one that is inevitable

hidden

in the grass and sun

to which your cloak will lead us the virgin fog


sleepless lines

you have washed your eyes and bed are clean

you are like

a watered garden in the desert a home forged out of the jungle

or a newly formatted computer disk you will be section ten

measured by deprived nature

that is its job pressing down everything

keeping accounts

till the commissioner at the end of time flips through the pages

you are unaware of his familiarity

or is it something new that surrounds you the darkness

civilization flows inside you with its historical backlash

you let yourself go

like a poppy seed in its husk a ship torn in space

or a white sheet of paper


hen it became night and day again as the Book says

God saw

that his creation was good

the bed cries out in the dark you are restlessly turning dawn is far away

and you know

it will take long time before a dream finds you in the night


with the help of a mirror

this

this cobblestone road in the fog ageless

like a path somewhere in the sky nameless

lost among all the stuck-on labels like the magic of your words

a road paved by unknown hands meandering patiently

in the thick fog

your blood vessels nerve cells and intestines interrogated by the fog

your brain reached your heart through bones meandering here

meandering in a straight line

a drafting table full of order is possible

soulless only an unconscious being on the ocean of unknowing

nothing

or most likely everything here right now

a void

with color scent and sound


it takes time for those faces to be born all those tiny faces

brush strokes on a larger canvas coming and going forever living

history is a museum of the apparently dead specimen cases overflowing

with everything always the same nothing changes

till you awake

and everything has always been here

how many times must emptiness be touched before a hand comprehends the heartbeat of God

this road is paved with fog

on the lap of light in the night

till the brilliant birth of blackness reaches your heart and silence teaches you to speak