Peeling seconds
my coat and boots
are left dancing hollowly
when drunks sway on the highways
and the woods have dried up
in a raspy voice arms outstretched someone
proclaims the kingdom of satan has arrived
a whistle plays alone
seeking someone to play it
I know it is what it is
and isn’t what it’s not
but every night at around eleven
I chew my lips ragged
out of fear of the coming deaths
cold sparks rest on eternity
that’s how he can tell
but I’m warm at the moment
because I hold in trembling hands
the hot heart of the world
dooon’t bottle it up
dooon’t bottle it up
but kiss its throbs and drink its blood
tasting that the blood is red and the grass is green
and trees are in leaf for less than half a year
is that so thatso huh huh
a crust spreads over the city with each passing day
then you burn like a snail in fire
scritch-scratch close the final slots
or more like tinkle-clink or growling
time displays numbers running into infinity
the biological clock halts
a gray-bearded old man prays in a train station waiting room
and is fined for indecent behavior
maybe one day we’ll practice walking on hands
though our veins won’t be poured into tin just yet
and strange blacksmiths will come at night
smash the crust to bits and blow the pieces to the wind
then I’ll wash my hands clean of murders
and throw on a clean shirt
* * *
morning forces thoughts and people low
habits overpower sensations
an exact definition for every hour every weekday every season
yet if you light a candle in morning when it’s still dark
and let the mind wander or just stare at the flame
you can pretend to be away for a while longer
and then head to the depot or wherever
or else while dashing to catch the train
imagine a dash through the forest
the chances to change sensations are many
you’ve simply got to realize what’s routine
and rethink it
what a wonderful morning I’ve never had the likes of it before
a new day is like a blank page no one has written upon yet