and i

sitting down tense
in the dark night chair
don´t creak !
don´t wake him !
strive to breathe silently !
and i, my old sheet stained with salt, sperm, green seawater
taut like a force 8 is blowing
creaking, groaning, cracking
just holding
despite patches, compromises and rough repairs
my heart drumming
on the taut animal skin
it won´t last for ever

heart and a voice

i wish you that the voice reaches you through the lines, rulings, organisations, the winds screeching their beliefs, through industrial disasters, blighted lives, cor blimey trousers, televised horrors, revolving glass, dervish skyscrapers reflecting sexual desires, the predators with their apex cards, staring ambiguously at their slaves, and through those perversions prowling your night's mind. your heart that you have from your mother is no servant, no, no, quite the opposite. i wish you because you are born of woman and to spite the layers, the cultured drapes, clinging, seared into your skin, despite your brain wound as a massive industrial generator, its parts heat stamped with serial numbers, its coils and the thick honeyed epoxy, its moveable and stationary components, slopping around in acid baths, the stench of the seals and the burning tyres. your mouth may well be mouthing cruddy texts from the long gone, from talkers whose utterances chanced to stick on the wall o' tears, the singers, the judges and every ordinary human idiot who walked this little earth, scratching a micron off the surface before it's carelessly wiped away by rearranging nature, by the great mass murderer, the messenger without a message.
i wish me or you or someone or anyone that a voice sounds which you hear with your heart of different ages, the heart you have from your mamma, as you are born of woman, a voice : child, everything will be fine.

a bench and a table

it´s time
sitting here on a long hard wooden bench
sitting alone
to say
i don´t care
life is good

the monarchist

he drinks imperial tea
out of deferential christian crockery
smokes cheap cancer
grunts his armchair assent
to the greater glory
of king and country
adjusts his trousers and laughs silently
daydreaming of riding in her country
of his cock filling her sweet suck mouth
with lovely warm salty spurts
he squints at the exploits
represented in the paper
winces when reprimanded
second grade fodder
self not really there

zurich

the only thing approaching alive here are
the bayer boys and girls
their dogs faithful on leashes
one urgently licking the face of his charge
who´s lying blissed out on the railway track

beyond the stinging nettles
evergreens stand soft in the distance
snow at their feet
i greet their appetite for revenge
they will kill silently, with maximum force

the days tick by and people nod
in this dead land
pretending and play-acting.
dead capital festers
the light of life is directed down a strict grid
perverted into a stench
foul and unwholesome

my heart´s blues

the heart that i have from my mother
my heart of different ages
an ice wind blows through me
my cogs don´t engage
and the motor doesn´t fire up
time hangs like fog on the air
what is and what should have been
diverge

trooping the colour

i wrote your name on my ensign
in a thousand dreams, letters and poems
i wish to write it on my tombstone
what stupidness !
it´s neither what you want
nor what makes me happy.