A city is desire for another city



in the opposite direction and down

down through unclear tunnels

down through velvet layers 
all the way to the clean crisp sheets in your mothers house
to the rattling of the coffee cups
that you hear in your shallow sleep and
to the radio that announces the news
as if  the world exists.


this city
is your mother and her interest in a faraway island energy.
is my mother and
my interest in her old photos.
is me  parasite.
this city is a persistent desire for another city.
this city is everywhere. Its borders fading into
endless striving for now.


salty mist from the sea followed the train all through the mountains and plains

coating the passing landscapes in a rustling foil

and every little house on the other side of the window

held promise of a happy end.

women on the balustrades, project into the street,
down to sailors, sticky sweets,

conned tourists red of face,

scent of spices, of the open sea,

the perfect dream of an exotic harbour.

fear sharpens the beauty of the night: You look sharp baby tonight.

numb heart exploded in the noisy cloud of dust.

we are here to remain, in love with everything that is not here

in love with absence.

but the border is open now

cross it.


one day we will talk about that sitting on

the juiciest grass

surrounded by pigeons and pelicans

we will eat hot dogs in perfectly round skirts

completed and timeless.


she told a lie to a taxi driver

that she was on a business trip

something to do with old languages

the same thing she told to a  homeless charmer

that looks good in photos

that looks good on big gardened widows’ sofas.

kids dyed hair in dirty gold, smoking on the highway

doing stunts for stiff, engaged


your tactic was simple: I want  to be a


In the yellow glow that rises above the bridges

through the colonnade of people fishing and billboards announcing

design week, you are running to our hotel

its neatly  packed soaps and slippers

nicely folded newspapers you are able to read.
alone on the train again along the curving walls

that took me by surprise,

led me

to the clear

to the sea and desire for God

for order

that I pretend to just partly understand

I don’t

not really

just this big water and oily bodies make me desire.


her ex-lover, beheaded, came in with

the tide

over and over that body was coming

limbs soft and stretched

his pain of denial made

the long necked palms bend over

pushng  through the

sticky flowers

through too public plains of the sunny afternoon

arms  discarded like branches after a storm

heading to the bar where staring people

have real jobs and strong hands.

from forgotten city gardens

you could hear growling of the big cats

licking soft thorn sleeves



shouting in the park:

“you ugly bitch I wanna stab you to death”

then we could hear a familiar name and loud singing,

and crickets, millions of them, all through the pine woods,

voices coming from the city beach.

voices of beings and happenings that are going on without us

and more and more without us

every moment somebody becomes too old for

certain cities: the strange-looking hair on those kids…

every moment an undiscovered star wears out

but this swamp will love you

preserve your dreams like raspberry jam

that sweetens your ever reducing days

sun is unpleasantly yellow and the big flood wave is expected any moment

shadows are long and slow

insects are falling down from the trees, sand is on the bed

between toes and fingernails

we are cleaning it constantly, the sand is everywhere

you are waking often; we talk often in pauses in between

two dreams

I can hear the city behind the blinds

I can feel it penetrating

the walls

of desired cold.