The Service Economy

cage of light bright metal
warm smell of straw and urine
a rat presses a lever with its snout
receives yet another shot of dopamine
its eyes dull
as if that were it
presses the lever again
again
again
an automatic counter
plastic parts and electronic components
registers each event
relaying information in a real-time printout
uploading a graph to a science website
inside is outside
as  if it were that

the lab technician
white coat with the firms logo
a decent roller pen
 a discreet piercing twixt mouth and chin
is thinking of relationships, being authentic, vacations

as if it were that

VAN GOGH

you say
that artist didn´t die
he lives on, his name known the world over
one thing though:
of this he knows nothing
he himself does not live on
just his legacy
and for him
it´s all been packed away
rolled up, string around it, and packed away
however hard this is to understand
in this maelstrom of shitwords
i die

i die and know nothing
of what happens to the memories i leave behind

my mamma, the sea

i am at sea
lying in your bed
sensing your sweetness

i am at sea
my hands and legs falling off
hanging on to something
that has gone

at sea asleep
at the mercy
of my dreams
of an oil tanker bearing down on my row boat

at sea
i am at sea

camel blues

if you want it, you can have it
really, truly, i am a good camel
stubborn, silent
i will carry you to the other side

what does a camel think ?
his sexual desire ?
sublimated through storm, sand, wind
the heat swirling through me
 a cup of goat´s milk, a plate of dates
dreaming of the salt sea air
and of the woman who opened martin´s heart

I FELL

i fell into this world
into time
into this language
into a place, a culture
i fell
i still falling
falling through useless rescue blankets of soggy paper
i still falling
still lonesome
still whimpering
still lost in the storm

MY BITS

bedside digital clock reads 06:56

i was born 1956

is my unknown mamma

or the madonna of the strange seas

reading these lines ?

no

no-one

no body

i stand alone

my inner voice that of a 7-year-old

fingers fidgeting

some stubbornness holds my bits together

A KIND OF ME

bridge
bus
looking on
yellowy moss spread on freight station roofs
here switzerland
ticking ticking ticking
my heart collapsing
need air, need light
scream mamma scream !
blue yellow red
running on empty