the coldness

there is a small chapel in the city
its walls and roof are made of human skulls and bones
today all i want is
to sit there
and feel the coldness of life

One lonesome day

here there are scattered stones

in memory of the king

i remember

the corpse of a turtle

2 meters in diameter

discovered in the dunes

heating up to explode

i remember

picasso´s women running on the sand

i remember

the happy-go-lucky old timer

who pointedly didn´t buy me a beer

sitting on a stack of railway sleepers

pencil in my hand

staring at an empty wall

thinking of the incommunicable details of my life

a dark female form passing by

whispers

and who is your signmaster ?