automatisch geschrieben oder auch nur: übung


cataloging the western, the consumables
under some bush behind someones house leaning a forest
out a dirty window of a
end of this continent

made it into the woods
without losing feet and
v flying birds flying beneath the overcast
verbalized horizons
till the color looked like the inside of a mouth,

[i] had written out your name
past passing
decapitated landmarks crypt –
and visceral
that seem only to leave
a dense
guttaral sound of n n n stutter-
ing on limbs s; teething bones
animals going home
but where is that
if not everywhere
if not the mouse is everywhere if not the duck dies everywhere
housing elevated south in that pond
that pond veining not
without ripples of water; undone disturbance
a bass undertone of koi flapping fins
somnolent now just a-
mount of collective silence. [fingering the notes on my desk
as if they could talk through papercuts]

automatisch geschrieben oder auch nur: übung, englische lyrik


2: 40 dripped a universal language by code; rain
cry or hiss of a fox housing on forests edge
his eyes are wilderness
are emeralds peering out
the suture of night,
sage growing exiled
traversing laments;
is to untie irony and chew on its endings –

indelible all is edible
so i hunt a cry that is this
lying next to my head almost touching my temples [i pretend to read his mind]
progress is heavy
gunfire fire [pause here]    fire
short in those checkered pyjamas
only worn in patchouli impregnated
nights radiating off a brittanica
clutching a map of summer and the flight routes of wasps

will be there
to assemble:
a wheel, a compass, book – talisman of change, repetition of melissa citron
to the subject of libertine that lives between the gaps of a cow like shaped cloud
the ego is vanilla pudding growing an exotic but constringent mold

still awake at 3:41 i note:
aligned orchards
full nihilists
mouth in nazis and beer and the ticking clock
spit out an idealist on a horse riding into a postcard
squinting eyes to decipher the imprint
– saudade –
i kill a beetle that is as small as the fingernail of a newborn
and breathe in the smell of karma
and the kerosine lamp
and mint bush
braiding a trail through sweaty childrens-hair

i am searching cupboards for the codeword of composition
to only grasp universals
where the nominative is an unhinged door.

automatisch geschrieben oder auch nur: übung, eigene lyrik

art. fingerhut woman

is not
the finger casket; hut
a nut fell or un
felt is covered with felt

art as the encyclopedia that ripens the month to a sum-

at july unaware of the month
a thumb makes halt at the yellow traffic light; blinking suggests
color; automotive motif –  not framed,
a stroller screams or the insides of the lining;
a bundle with a face
sucking intimacy / mother & breast
on that park bench in olive butter tone
[last year around this time there was
fern growing wild where the WOMAN now nursing stares at earth].

eigene lyrik

der ornithologe ist gestorben / the ornithologist died

we are always the ones to take home even the half dead birds
because their dignity colors less when they die on the heated housefront
am the one that also spreads their wings and wants to help them fly
even though i do not know how that works.

(original in german)

wir sind immer die die auch halb tote vögel mit nach hause nehmen
weil sie sich würdelos färben wenn sie an der aufgeheizten hauswand sterben
bin auch die die ihre flügel spreizt und ihnen beim fliegen helfen will
auch wenn ich nicht weiß wie das geht.

eigene lyrik

potato peel hands / kartoffelschalen hände

the hands of the kitchen maid, in this little
in hungary are fleshy and coarse
how she peeled potatoes
and her hands became potato peels,
wooden was also the scent
the trees in the courtyard seek admiration,
dry like in our place;
at home – there were home is a hill and the lake is near
– could at the peak of summer
ignite the half green with a cigarette butt.
here was a smoking ban,
i thought we wanted to bathe further inland
where all is innate and everything devouring self
searching for the close
we never left this place.

(original in german)

die hände der küchenfrau in diesem kleinen
in ungarn sind fleischig und rau
wie sie die kartoffeln schälte
und ihre hände kartoffelschalen wurden,
hölzern war auch der duft
gefallsüchtig die bäume im hof
trocken wie bei uns
zu hause – da wo zu hause ein hügel und der badesee nicht weit ist
– könnte man zur hochsaison
das ganze halb-grün mit einer kippe entzünden.
hier war aber rauchverbot,
ich dachte wir wollten noch in dem landes innere baden
wo alles innen ist und sich nach nähe suchend verschlingt
wir gingen nie weg von hier.

eigene lyrik, poetry

i give my hunter peonies

full of lower case letters: me, me,
while you are, what i only whisper,
as if hunted by epilogues, by primal tides
and things that rule more my night than day

my daughter speaks of i and mine
concluding that all eyes rest on her,
i give her peonies, the ones
a past eastern wind lets grow
and has left to tied knots under the earth,
where some wayward roots have thirstily spread out

and there again is the hunter in my child
with green eyes of a river bearing a trout,
waiting only for i to tell me the story of her.