Buried Bliss and Comfort’s Fast Decay

warschau

Winter came late this time and

as I strolled Warsaw’s cobblestone pavement

as my hands were pressed against the insides of my pockets

as I found snowflakes in the corners of my squinted eyes, making my sight blurry,

I met a lady outside of her shop.

She stood there and had a smoke, a cold one. A smoke with wind in the back of her neck and around her ankles.

„Warsaw is rather cruel to you“, I said, but I guess she didn’t hear me.

Maybe I didn’t say it out loud.

The inevitable desperation of a December fly.

Dezemberfliege

Cold leaked through the window frame and there

not moving not turning its head not rubbing its legs

sat a fly.

I bend to examine it closely.

Its wings were a perfectly symmetrical veil.

As I took a picture, I realised that it was soon to die and felt blasphemous.

 

The Golden Riot

st hanshaugen

Sometimes something gets stronger, shortly before it dies.

It rebels against the end, no one would have guessed.

Like the leaves. Look at the leaves.

Or like the sentiments of a year that is counting down the weeks. They creep over my back, while I stand looking over the Oslo Fjord, while I swish through the bright yellow dots in Slottsparken, while I squint at the sun.

I watch the last revolution of the trees; their end is marvelous.

 

 

I feel lonely for you

Bank in der Sonne vor abgeschlagener Mauer

You know, it will get darker from now on.

But as long as it lasts, we could treasure the golden days of autumn equinox.

We could stay outside in the leaves and in the long shadows and wait for our fingers to get clammy. We could listen to the gravel. We could –

 

 

Time puts a cigarette in our mouths

Abandoned Cinema

It once has been a cinema and now it smells of pigeon muck and bent metal.

When I was young, we went to the place and bought popcorn where now all kind of waste is dropped.

Inside, derelictions dwells on broken glass.

Outside, rose hips take back the staircases.

 

Assorted Chaos

Werkstatt

I found a calendar in the littler („Dreamboys 2013“ if you have to know) and wanted to put it on the wall. As I had no nail, I went to my workplace’s workshop to get one.

It smelled like oil and wood and metal and dust and freshly cut grass.

I moved and tools touched my wrists and thighs.

There was a great calm in all of this muddle and I felt reassurance that every piece was where it was meant to be.

Have You Forsaken Me?

Doorbell abandoned

I never cared to take a look. But one day, on my way to work,

I peeped through the shattered window. And there,

inside,

was a small, dusted world, waiting to be kissed awake. (blink, blink and it may be gone)

Burn My Colours

sunset donauinsel

One evening when the sun went down, everything turned lilac and blue and purple and gold.

I stopped on a bridge and watched as the colours changed.

Next to me, a girl embraced her friend for a selfie. Then she said maybe it’s the end of the world.

It was not, but still it was beautiful.

Privat Residues

Writings on the Wall

I came across a street, more a lane, let’s say, the corner of a lane,

and there on the wall were writings.

Old ones and new ones.

It made me sad to look at them for no other reason

than

that nothing stays and once no one will remember.