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
