hot nights in the future

and it could so be
sometime in the red-pillared room
grimly sadly sweetly a hospital bed
and up on the night terrace
sun lotion, grill smells, perfume
waft up salty cloying his nostrils
he rides his forefinger over a well-clipped moustache
then howling at the wind and coughing and crying
he screams and hollers
like there is no tomorrow

ALMOST 60 YEARS OLD

these many years are flown
i still know nothing
about me
about the world
certainty about the world is clearly impossible
but knowing who i am
what i feel
that should somehow be possible
i am scared
scared of nothing
scared of everything

the drunken cousin

these voices in my head
none of them speak my language
all of the voices in my head
from my childhood
growing up
from my adult life
we don´t connect
and i sit stubborn
shivering cold
the drunken cousin
in the corner

MORAL PHILOSOPHY

and what is this screaming inside my head ?
what does it mean ?
pain ?
learnt behaviour ?
and, if learnt behaviour, then why ?
because of pain ?
because of this mix
of pain, depression
with a dull contentedness
self-satisfaction
happiness

moral philosophy is beyond me !

WILLOW

back then
my Latin teacher
told me to buck up --
else your accomodations, your willow nature
will be the death of you !

one night

she screaming
sudden a fright in the night

i screaming
vine clinging to the trellis
i screaming
pen in my fist

i fool look in my wallet
for certainties

i empty
and overflowing
with tears, tears
my hatred and despair
exaggerated and stylized
I CANNOT FIND SELF
not here i am not there

FLYING

flying
transferring to another continent
to another time, place
culture, identity

and who i am remains constant
through all my changes
of costume, behaviour , custom