chalk

a re-poled sphere, for thus we speak
our thumbs minutely asunder
with sparks and ether and miniature thunder
our hapless clay faces, the quake that we seek
but nothing ever shall come about
nothing shall trouble our hives

cowards in
white and white and white

we spit

drink

counting down

unnamed urge
of fists of fights of flights
in dreams in sleep that cuts out of me
this blur into white
in nights that merge
into days that merge
into a stream a decreasing
count of
tomorrows

get me
while

fernweh

let us hold hands
and cross the border on foot
take a dusty bus to the
next unnamed town

let us be nameless under the sun
strangers to all but each other

breathless

no beliefs left
no god, no guidance, no universe
nothing but the DNA machine that I am
and all the unstoppable things
that I have set in motion
that keep me in unstoppable motion

a handful of years left
before the end

so how to find the only thing that matters?
how to find Now


and you in it?

nothing happened, except that I was saved

aching fever, flat on my blanket
the night hurls distant railway tracks
and sweaty squalls of cabbage corpses
from south-east
into the black black chamber.

in my fever dream, the corpse
sucks me south-south-east into the landfill
into her dark entrails, into her blackest fluids
fever ache. the potent stench of rot
in the bedroom

but deeper into the night
your compact body against my back
the room smells of linen,
Orion enframed in the window
you smile in the glowing dark

and touch me where I need it the most

I no

 

sick of soul self talk mirrors
all is said

mirror fuck shatter.
these hands shall change
fight up down exclude
include

world be

soon, oh soon the light

in a mere 30 years
all those that knew us
will be dead as well

so as we grow older
no news is tellworthy any longer
for we see the true world now
our fates but nothing

so nothing is new
and what matters
is now
and what we leave behind
perhaps, if we can