She shows her self To those who will listen
She talks To those who will see
Like an albatross I fly
iImitating his movements,
refusing to lay eggs
on snow or ice.
I will lay my eggs
where ashes lay thickly
amongst lush growths
on rocks at low tide.
And still they will be hit
by the Antarctic air
and ritualised threats, or else
under that of a volcano, in fear
of being boiled alive, they will
just like the golden lizard
sneak to rescue at the risk
of scorching feet
just like us trying to beat
the waves and build
the best nest.
And black lava moves
like classical music
and high volcano peaks
force clouds to drop
rain to fertilise ashes.
And as iguanas are brought
the rare chance of a drink
we are provided with fires,
the fires that give life.
And as small fish clean big
penguins stand like gravestones
overlooking cold seas
and a reptile dies on hot rocks
to keep a young bird alive.
An illusionist is enclosed
In a block of ice
In the middle of Times Square
For three days
Around him men sit
Throwing rugby balls
At each other’s heads.
I watch them from a distance
And have to deal with that
Writing is theft, and that
Also Dylan is a moralist
Without any escape.
One day I will drive
Straight through them
And for that year
Severely wounded Sage
Can I bring you some hope?
Rain wet melancholy
in a get-out-of-the-way spot
the sound of a car horn moves
on by and defines itself, painting
movement with its’ increasing decreasing.
No body can strap body parts together as he can.
He is a reward-drawer who believes in smart-trams
and draws you spam-maps.
He fools you into straw-eating warts and when you scream
for more he is the one who brings you plate after plate of more
erecting with his left hand columns, castles.
He knits and stinks and peels sleep off you
when you need it the most. A pubic hair falls
off his finger and starts its fight with feathers.
He is a redivider, a petrifier and he speaks backwards.
But maybe one day we will see through and sum up:
The devil lived in a doomed mood
That we can do without. We fooled him
with sensuousnes(s) or stayed forever quiet.
Anger? ’tis safe never. Bar it! Use love
(or: Evoles ut ira breve nefas sit; regna
Which means more or less the same).