The earth is a thin shell
around glinting hot
stardust, fertile
rotating space pieces

metabolized by cold
and the warmth of the sun
friction and volcanoes
yotta's of parasites

Bosses and bankers
place your bets
with dynamite and diamond
drills, really

it's nobody's fault when it goes wrong
Perhaps there is a higher will

We don't have to ask ourselves
how it would deal with it

because we know the answer
within living memory: due to
providence it would
go the way it goes

I walk through the village
The sun shines, the wind blows
a little through my hair

The shutters are closed
with chinks thin as needles
with long narrow eyes

My shadow doesn't fall inside
anywhere, there are none
in the dim rooms

where the light drearily
obscures what is going on
and what the consequences are

of everyone's comings and goings
The peeping people press me
as compelling devils

out of their eyes
out of the chinks in their lives
The sun upon me is insufferable

Get started! With a small box, some leaves
and some ants, and practise lightning
a flying storm and the heavenly hand

until you can do it
Then take a larger box
with more stuff and many more ants

Of course, they don't mess up
properly, so you shake the box
and occasionally you raise your higher hand

Then you can do it with two boxes
and having mastered that, you throw them
together and you appoint petty bosses

If a box fails, you set it on fire
You open a new one
and you give the boss a second chance

Well, it's so easy
to be the upper boss

There is no thin part
in the hedge around my life
I have to push through it

My horns get entangled
Where is the helping hand
when you need it?

Should I die here
like Moses on the holy mountain
looking out over the promised land?

Heaven, save me the earth
of a premature grave, give wind
that bends away the branches, water
that exposes the roots, or fire

and I will endure it
until the wood is dry and will give way
If necessary, break off my horns
just do something, and love me

Let's cooperate and liberate the world
from humanists and believers
because they do not believe
in mighty people

but in justice
Let's cooperate and free the world
Let money rule without borders
of virtue and let us cooperate

to make more power with a profit
See the foreigners on heaven's
edges look enviously over the fence
at us conquerors of the world

Let them look, they are not coming in!
We buy us safe and free, we don't have
to pray anxiously for our possessions
like small bosses, farmers and citizens

Because we shift the risks
We can count on poor people
the mercenaries of having nothing
to lose than their lives

Sometimes I feel I miss something:

the world of the book I finished
chances I seemed to have
unrealized plans

desires that do not pass
or my courage ducking
behind practical objections

Then I want a world of my own
to be special, or beautiful
with people who listen to me

but people don't do that
and that is sad, just as sad
as being common in common clothes

and being not so beautiful
obliged to live
in a not so beautiful world

I'm back, on my guard
in the streets of my youth
and the crying embrace

of amma and my sisters
on the banks where I've played
I won't leave here again

even if I have to fight for it
It is not in my hand
to die or to kill

No longer can I be an exile
a polite guest conforming
like a slave

I'm back, on my guard
in my own house, and you, brother
the oldest, you must be wiser

No king
can crown himself
at most he can be a servant

Just let them reason, get their right
in words as if we are talking
about the same, yes just let them

shoot, the State will not give in
to violence, blood does not write
evidence, only facts

reveal truth:
foreigners and relatives besiege
us, they yell threats

and demands, forsake peace
But we have everything to lose
we have victory or heaven

and they will be forgotten
not even mocked for their foolishness
of coming to kill us in their delusion

to be happy afterwards. Like cadavers

after slaughter, they will lie in the field
eaten by hyenas, jackals, rats

and worms from the underworld
Children will play with the bones

Do the right thing, though I don't want to
kill and be killed, but still
drive out tyranny for others

If that is the limit of my life
I can't go any further, and I don't want to
be confined to it

Who else could I be?
Because this lack of freedom I don't want
for those who are still young

So I renounce what I want
to withstand and I do what I want
to bequeath. I don't hold my tongue!

It was a day without a date
an ordinary day, as far as we know

no grand prince was born
no city perished or world empire collapsed

It is very long ago, that day
of the black stone rain

It may have been a harsh punishment
although no one knew what for

certainly not later, so what else
could it have been

but a heavenly gift?
The small stones fell apart

but a large one remains
as a reminder

of the regained island
without its walls lost

as paradise, but a promise
to the faithful: one day

another day without a date
will be the last and the first

Being a volcano
with a thick skin
of fresh fertile soil

Wasting myself on it
with well-intentioned tinkering
and failing plans

Ignore the mess
It's not that bad
Excuses are unnecessary

Tomorrow is another day
for the holy got to be
and new wrongprovements

There's enough in bloom
to live on
between all solidifications and ashes -

the black of ardent ideals

In my darkest clothes I slink
home from the front at night
stooping along the walls
of the cemetery, crawling
through the ditch around the checkpoint

Mama cries
and pushes me to the rear
to the raked bed
of tulips under the jasmine
where there is some kind of peace

I have to
do what I should do
just like my brother, who lies here
in our secret bosom
because he dared to speak about peace

when neighbouring villagers came
shouting from the barrel of a tank
that we should step aside
for their protection in the name
of the Supreme and the government

My thoughts cry
at seeing and hearing the people
on terraces, the ferry and the news

I cry for wars that are never over
for the survivors and the witnesses around
the corner, who lived past the violence
and have not seen any dead people

that are also not over for their children
immaculate, innocent, naive
who claim
heaven on earth

which fails to happen, even though
those people shout toughly afraid
how great their heroes are
their nation, their past and future

and they shout who does not belong
who must leave
their right
or be held back

with fences and the hard way
of guns and starvation
in no-man's-land

On the bridge before these walls
stood the spears with the heads
of all who were in the way

cut off on the block, with ravels
if the convicted refused
to pay the headsman

for a quick death, the heads
with holes where the blackbirds pick
the holes where the eyes were

The parishioners wore shawls
over their noses and mouths
during the Sunday service

in the church of the chains
because it reeked from the vault
full of beheaded bodies

oh, history lessons
don't make anyone happy
at best our children

if we don't let us be tied down
by complicity in injustice
lifelong guilt and shame

if we dare to count on each other
and rise up against tyranny

The scarecrow has fallen
dried up in the heat
of the hibiscus days

The flowers rust
the forest is coppice
and my blood turns sour

Fabric softener does not help
dandruff and flakes everywhere
itchy beard stubble

Sore bones, sleep deprivation
the smell of melting rubber
ashes of dead fungi

The pounding of the sun

It itches in my head
the world turns and tumbles
on margins

of prestige and laws
and well-known artists
dance along

they want to make
something for thousands
of years, for everyone

an axis of eternal truth
and beauty, protected
from the own laws

of vandals, the army
of black beetles
on bomberdumberdays

the violence of time
in the margin of which people
potter for immortality

The word has been indestructibly
poured, swept and guarded
it has leveled pimples and polyps
of boulders and trees
straightened noses and washed ears

with rules and shame
because no one should get lost
there is no more room for it
in the Street of the People

for the Book of Changes
teaches that
nothing can be done
in case of dissension

The word has become sugary-sweet
daily a pill against boredom, it has become
supervision and volcanic concrete
one sauce for goose and gander
it lives among us

To the south the gardens are empty
the Butterfly People live in the north and there
are also Tibetan museums with explanations
in the colours of the new era

because the word is for everyone
and except for those close to you
everyone is everyone to everyone
Everyone is everyone

Come, Dambala, come
draw your trail in the sand
I want to read you

between the hills on which we live
come, eat the eggs, Papa, come
the blue and the brown ones

We are green from the weeds
from the deep sea, we are red
from the blood that flows

the white people don't go
to the black heaven
and there is no hell

There is only the fire
and the earth to consume
their corpses and to honour you

with their scent of decay
the sacrifice of their sins
come, Dambala, come

Sometimes I dream of a new start
a new world, the earth
without human vices

only divine births
of helpfulness and wisdom
so that those words become obsolete

finally no more auditions
of imaginary comedians
with endless filth

their bundling of centuries
of coercion, humiliation, and abuse
in the joke of The Aristocrats

A world without me
only plants, animals
and avatars as a kind

of people who walk the virtual reality
of the golden means
of Aristotle

He has no rest, he has to
think ahead all the time
because politics is war

trade is war
and war is trade
if you just think ahead

and don't stay at home
to enjoy what you have
until you suddenly lose it

He is a man, he has to
succeed, spinning around
like a bullet he drills himself forth

against the current through
the wavy bed of narrow channels
with sticky banks, he has to

be the winning sperm
he laughs himself strong
he has dogs that bite

The Knitting Needles Museum
has a prudish name
that frightens the schoolchildren
and obscures the oppression
of desperate and raped women

The torture museum
and the war museum also
lack the inspiration
from a muse
They are monuments

and should be called that
With the unbuilt museums
of destroyed art and
ancient cultures, they can
fill a street in any city

Ecce homo, behold man
the noble beast, the master
of things and nothings -
virtual and vanished
worlds that are unlivable

Here, on the fertile shores
of the crescent moon
we have a good life
We can make a start:

draw borders
build a state
recruit boys and train them
to be border guards

We pay them well
That attracts girls
There is money for extra
children

boys
who don't have to work
in the fields or in town
but can become soldiers

and girls
to care for them
and to serve them, at home
where their place is

within the boundaries
of their husband's state
who serves the country's state
his paternal home

under our leadership
the hard way of the state
in which the tasks are split up
No more equality

I'm the shadow
next to you, the traffic regulator
you don't need

I'm the one
who good day good day
looks for deposit items
in the street litter bins

the roamer who approaches you
with bad teeth
and a bad story

I'm the one
with the odds and ends
with the red roses
in the restaurant

I'm the one
with the helpless look
with the helping hand

I'm the one
who washed your windscreen
who is homeless
who stands in line

for a meal
for a free shower
for a helping hand

I am I
want to want
to live to
live with you

Flowers and insects, so many are gone
     Lives pass away, it is easy to see
Stop it, don't do it, don't let it go on
     Foreigners, friends, all our family, we

Businesses stop and employments will end
     Lives pass away, it is easy to see
Borders and shops being closed, it's a trend
     Foreigners, friends, all our family, we

All of us know, don't you see, don't you sense it?
     Lives pass away, it is easy to see
When are we willing, when shall we commit?
     Foreigners, friends, all our family, we

People who flee, many starve, many drown
     Lives pass away, it is easy to see
Peoples and nations come up and go down
     Foreigners, friends, all our family, we

Angels and trumpets are still on the loose
     Lives pass away, it is easy to see
Shall we count down, or say bo to a goose?
     Foreigners, friends, all our family, we

Judges weigh accomplished facts
   (against justice)
boards weigh costs and benefits
   (against set goals)
and representatives
   weigh desires and greed
   (against peace and prosperity)

They must work together
listen and talk things over
esteem no one less or more
than themselves

but chosen they are
a mirror of the voters
divided, and a partial
interest is easier

   (with distorted scales
     false weights and
     the stories that owners
     write behind the scenes
     to rationalise their theft)
to promote than a long-
term general interest

Calimeros nick shit shit
on top of the living mountain
boom boom bombing bass
do not wipe their ass

get behind their masks
mish mash mocking heads
the right of their pose
pooh pooh poo haha

smother smile-screw-lala
protest and opposition
in fearing much more most
and flowers on the graves

Whinge and wine too bad oh yeah
of the bra-brave fools
who want to be martyrs
Come and see! Come and see!

They curse what is not black
and threaten oh sigh sigh
boastfully destruction
that no cartoon can contain

Politicians are at the top
of language, salesperson
and lawyer in one they
compress the voters' words
with lobbyists and preachers
along the line, it's all

about bluff and the art
of getting stuck every now and then
so that a competitor has to come
and help and inconspicuously
pushed on previous promises
crashes, chokes on them

or at least tears
himself inside
on their blade
You too, Brutus?
It is a full moon
The people are cheering

Feelings about that word
the collapsing world
and the loss of dignity

The consciousness
that it continues to happen
before our eyes, also here

where for a century, expelled people
find a homeland in a promise
from the distant past

By force they occupy the land
have become the majority
and built a state

while foreign soldiers
with an international mandate
marched past the citadel

and maintained order
by bloodily, bloodily suppressing
protests against the colonisation

At school and on the news
students inherit in stories
the lies and the willingness
to go to war

More is less is the law
of children asking
will be passed over
Father keeps them short

When they undertake something
he should have done himself
he beats them and
breaks it off

He throws crumbs
to the people in their holes
he appeases the hooligans
and critics are open targets

for the silent reproach
of the majority
that they defy father
and do not join

He has a public, shouted
himself upwards, pushed up
by the colliding mass

like a continental plate
creates a watershed
that is invisible

in the landscape, on the left
and right it is equally green
from the same rain

but the water nourishes
a different soil
flows in a different direction

into a different valley
a different river
a different sea

and only after long toil
will a future generation break
the mountain ridge in enough places

Understanding lawyers

     devise legal contracts
     for dowry and divorce -
     a marriage for a single night

          write small laws
          to circumvent the big ones -
          because laws create order

               sharpen the common public interest
               they point it into good deals -
               for hypocrites and opportunists

                    draw up exemption clauses
                    for brawlers and front men -
                    for the power of high finance

                         defend the pick-up services
                         of blacked-out cars -
                         with a wreath of nice words

I walk alone through the country
where they murdered my mother
incited by the political valets
of big business, our country

     which shapes my thoughts
     and hides my longing body
     and your longing body
     under collective fear

          which is still held hostage
          by the many-headed dragon of
          the arrogant screamers who drive
          us into war in their interests

               which leaves me standing alone
               next to the barracks and the new
               golf course of the businessmen, I call
               upon all the wise men, saints and angels

                    in the midst of the whirlwind
                    of suffering that does not exist
                    in the mouths of the spokesmen -
                    made invisible by their breath

Of course, we don't want war
In any case not
in our own country

So soldiers are needed
and they need to practise
to avoid boredom

So we provoke
something across the border
We let them come

while we have already left
Or, if they're stupid
we teach them a lesson

In an ambush
In any case, we teach them
to remain afraid

Is this decadence:
clinging to your life
and holding the young people

responsible for their future
which seems lost
without credible promises

and with only the paralyzing
realisation that everything
is getting worse

so that only violence
seems to offer a solution?
As it always has been

Empires are great
thanks to a large army
that efficiently (you're welcome)

colonizes foreigners
and also makes
its own people pay for it

My big brother wants to be the biggest
He quickly feels wronged
I would owe him

When I disagree with him
I get reproaches as if I'm betraying him
and conspiring with our sisters

As it suits him
he calls me
a little man (fascist)

a sneaky (secret agent)
a mama's boy (communist)
or a selfish (capitalist)

as if I'm taking something from him
and have no right
to exist

outside of hell
or of the colonialism
of his state within the state

What are you actually capable of?
I have no use for you at all
You have grown old, dirty
and you have no one
to look after you, so

you can tell
I'm tired of you
Get out of here
or I'll cause you something
It is your own fault

You know the way it goes
what you are worth, that
it can't go on like this
Don't just sit there
hoping this will pass

I don't want to see you anymore
You'd better be happy
so patient I've been with you
And now it's time for tea
I'll make it myself today

Under the Peace Flag
there is the most freedom
to continue the war
referring to provisions
in the Treaty of Peace

There is always a story
to tell about the past
an era to choose
in which is founded
what was lost, a Golden Age

to which the people are entitled
and in which they will arise:
everything will be fine
as long as you have the last word
and silence the dissenters

those traitors of the truth
and the ideals of the revolution
Fight for equal rights
of our oppressed brothers
Free them!

Restore the territory
the foundation of the wealth
and the power of the leaders
then they might grant you
a large statue

Even the most beautiful girls
cannot keep our sons at home
     We only know half
     of their dreams, not the other
     half that will not come true

Oh, girls (poor girls)
will they take over there
     Without obligations
     and without resistance
     Struggling bleeds dead

They spit on their worker's hands
look forward to striking fists
     Peace is not their world
     They are no longer children
     and they laugh at our worries

On our breasts we fed them
with peace
     They have grown from it
     developing in homeliness
     but now they want something else

Deep into the night
they felt like winners
The blood had flowed
and it was not theirs

But at dawn
the corpses lay down
with the frightened women
and crying children

in their heads
Occupied, nothing wants to
flow in their bodies
Betrayal! Betrayal!

Ghosts and rats
lick the anger
and play hide and seek
in the maze of lies

about the heroic battle
for the fatherland
and its powerful fathers
with their forked tongue