:
,
:
.
,
42,7o
,
.
.
:
.
!
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come on
the night
no sleep in the doors
the window is broken with a flat crack:
the head, the dog, and the stone
i'm dying:
in fact i'm not dying in my sleep
yet in my sleep i'm dying.
it's not enough, why
there's no
and so wrong
and not 42,7o
so much has been poured in, and it's still
so unliquid.
and no need to
and who needs it.
and this is oh so long a line: what an extremely continuous
straight spurt
and not there where
and not me who
and come on
come off!
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14 190
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to write
the middle of the book is taken out
the stump is eaten to the core
elaborately
splitting the stub
a zero state
the password is extracted from the nostril
the flakes of house moss
roll over
between the pages 14 and 190
does this affect the novel
i'll finish here my cigarette
and sharpen this little finger
to fit between the lines
like lathered or
does it stay unhurt
the filter has now fallen away
water and toothpaste
i'll finish here my drink
and think through the middle to
the terrible ending
like house moss hacking
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* * *
:
,
,
(
)
c,
|
* * *
vestibular
is the equilibrium
particularly after
the flatfoot inflammation
the thick ankle inflammation
the pillion inflammation:
the yellow stump's
black arm, the screw-bolt
the pin, the amalgam
the molar forceps
the thyroid little shield
after the belly-wash
from the broken tea-cup
(a shame to waste
the mouth all in shards
in reddish-brown)
the left and the right are for awhile
restored, and then
the equilibrium
presses back
any craving
any hypophysis
any prosthesis
back to the background
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:
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connection to the other et alia
something is dangling like a pipe in the mouth
by which
the bulks of the chewed
bonemeal
instead of smoking
we'll retreat with the which one of you
into the cellophane
in which
sticking out the fat pustular tongue
in which
you are living a mouse under floorboards
in which
day or night the dingy rain never ends
nor lamebrain catheter quotes
by biting the dollar to test it
you find out the dissimilitude:
an animal and a pipe
a bladder and urine
which
is a grass and an evening
a rain and a midsize
rat and the mouse spoils
which
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,
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late one night
the photo of a stone is falling into the porcelain
the porcelain shatters
the stone mashes
in the blue canyon
the plumbing
water
and the chemical pulp diluted in white water
the hard paper and the moon
is reflected, there the bulb
fizzles out
into the water, sizzling
short
plonk
circuit
bleaching the teeth out
in the dark
in the borax
in the storm in the porcelain tea-cup
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,
|
there's a finger in the parcel,...
in the point of ingrowth
of a vertebra and a telephone
there's a finger sticking out, stupidly torn off
wrapped in a white sock
in the point where there's a
point of melting, a nail
by the burnt chitin
by banging the bone
by puckering the tissue with its phalanx
a part of you for me
word falling
photo falling
the total finger cremation
the ash liquor
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a liter of gasoline...
no i really don't know why
the strips of torn bedsheets
annelidae
electronic biohair
of the time zones
should tie up so well
a puddle of kentucky bourbon
a wild boar or turk
a bright match flame of the idiot june sun
a gag in writing
word falling photo falling
name crawling up a living fuse wire
and the image not crumbling
just because it's not there
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...and some water
the humanly sadistic word
falling
scooping with the avalanche tongue
the photo
falling carrying gravel along
through the blockages there is a
small word of four green letters groping
and an unpleasant greenish hand
under the rubble
of the ear with a new name
broken into shards of the porcelain auricle
which is falling
something crawling up
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the grass snake
the venomous sting with two fingers
taking
i'll feel for the grass snake's orifice
with two fingers his yellow ears pinching
pressing his head with its ptosed third eyewinkles
down into the ring of my fingers
i'll pull the skin off his face
i'll look deep into his facets
i'll tear off his little legs
one by one
and his rattletail
i'll quash with my virulent jaw:
this is the smack of a swamp
this is the smack of a swamp
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2
3
4
5
1
1
4
2 5
1
1
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5
1
2
3
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night
one
2 grams of rain have fallen from the sky
3 o'clock
4 fingers
5
1 bat from the movie
is dying in the corner
alone in bed
4 o'clock
from 2 to 5 the neighbors
had music in their place
from a music box
1 tiny ballerina
with 1 leg
thrashes against both ears
how she's been thrashing
what time is it now
or am i asleep already
someone has died
what children
*
and at 5 o'clock
1 child
2 child
3 child
how they scream, all 4
or am i still asleep
the music box music
|
 |
|
()
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landscape
an unurban building
a blue plumtree
a huge blue sky
a blue rye
an unknown face
a bluejay shoal
a dove loft the palings
pale shit
a human conversation (over there)
a transparent door
to enter without a sound
probably
|
* * *
, :
,
|
* * *
here, it twirls again:
an easy noose of nasopharynx
torn heel-toes
on the tip-toes and the back-hands
wrenched elbows
a girl of about 4
vodka in her lungs
a heavy bow tied
the skin, the small steps
what a drunk ballet
sweaty
little face
|
15 .
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15 min
along the quarter of an hour
you're walking covering the head with your
rounded skirts
without hearing
more or less without seeing
revolving your own corners
around yourself
yourself
and when the quarter of an hour has revolved
you barely have time
to hold your head still
they are hanging limp already
those wet narrow skirts
around
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: ?
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two stones
devouring the purulent meringues
with the wrought iron tooth
what does the one
who had ground the enamel down
on the patisserie think of
i would've thought of large stones in gold
i would've thought of stars glistening on metal
i would've thought of the night glimpse of the moon
i would've thought of the blood gushing out by barrels
i would've thought of blanket mountains and armchairs
but never of the dental
never of the yellow
never of the concrete steps
and i'm no longer as i am
but she thinks: what if?
and me?
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 |
, .
,
.
. . .
.
.
.
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.
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love apples
so, it was too premature to draw the conclusions.
upon any retreat to the dry balcony
they came back with a gap in the head
almost every time.
and so. it happened. yet always.
on the way back. from the water the
head remained dry.
so this is how it happened. they were escorted
from the balcony with a dry gap
in the brainpan
so this is how four colored tomatoes withered
the yellow the green and the red
they had been cultivated in the pan
on the potsherds
from a dry gap in the water.
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:
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the cro-magnon
the silicon under the fingers
the silicon crunch
stifling
no stopping in the
scalding sands
a charred log and a piece of wood
you're erecting:
a piece of wood
a charred log
a piece
a matchstick
a pinch of sand
covered with a piece of wood
magnesium, sulphur and silicon
are fired with a spark
reflecting in the glass
immediately the
torn white flame bursts
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.
,
, ,
, .
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:
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the nut
like a coleopterous parachute
a hard-winged croton-bug is lighting upon my palm.
the plane is blooming, and the palm
of my hand welcomes the follicle, the stone,
the ready-made chrysalis, a token.
and you calm down.
you're not sorry about
wasted blood and pesticides anymore.
play it cool: it's not a cockroach
it's a mulberry tree
that has soiled the soil
with its turned juice and bird turds
|
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the phosphor
i'm rubbing a helix into my hair
and like a coil spring it tears from my eyes
too deep and too far
you're too deep and too far
so much blue water and so deep a vortex
where the air has drowned
so deep as deep as i've sunk in this dune
and can't lift all the surface
i'm sinking where the sea had drowned
and my vapid bones inflexibly
will go under the ocean like the spiralled phosphor
|
2/3
2/3
|
2/3 of a dream
the hand grows into the breast
you lower your leg across it gently
to sleep you put your
right eye down into the left hand
and let me down there too with your left right one
the hair into the ear and the heel onto the wall
2/3 across the left shoulder not full-face not sidewise
enveloping into sleep like a quilt
the head solders into the breast half-turned
and the airfield unfolds
|
* * *
ssso
(e. jandl)
|
* * *
ssso
(e. jandl)
you want you fall
you want you get up
you want
i don't
i don't
i don't
you fall you want
you want you get up
you'll see
you'll fall
i do
i do
i do
as i want to
you will you won't
but fall
you want you don't
you will
you fall you don't
fall into the will-be
i do and i will
|
.
. .
--
.
.
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an unending line
and then at last you raise your lizard eyes the colour
of the swamp you raise to the light your nameless puffed-up third eyelid
and the pulse beats up with the fenfire in my straight breast and doubtless.
i'm wallowing in a stillpool. the bubbles boil up slowly and you feel the
oxygen is leaving and no help. and i'm still at the colour of the swamp
the quagmire and the hungry the naked the stark yeahornay is being covered
up with the pale pallid flush sourmust like cold creepers the blue spark
is running to set the single hair on fire which suddenly smells of mercury
green and slurry grey sulphur and you know. the straightened living vermin
with a hapless little face well whatever. the only thing is to stifle the
lantern with the beating weightless wing of the brain iceless eyesless
iless unless the dapper little lizard turns up that had burnt up into a
pale point and reclining like a rubicund wing in the diapausal requiescence
of the forsaken forgotten only tomorrow's not filamental ringfire i love
you i love you i you love laugh augh lie ovo eye love u
|
y
a
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, a,
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the nymphs
the cracked celluloid
carcasses of living dolls
the chrysalis has burst
with soft dry skirr
the great organ has gargled mechanically
pater noster anno domini lead us not into
temptation sancti
in the ash-black fog there hangs
the gray lint of corpuscular words
there are three consonants in your name
this much i still remember
but the rest is now covered with the burning scald
of the fog, of the pipe organ, of the dolls'
guggling palabra
from the barrel organ
of the bubbling
from the heart of christ
made of plastic pipes
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:
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heel-and-toe
racking the liquid lung off into the scuba
hurry-scurrying through dressing the rib
with a rag, treating it
with a band-aid, usually green
dismally sparkling like a numbfish i'm
walking away from the shore without watching
the shrubs
the beacons
without marking the
spot with a staff and a stone
where the silk gown is buried
but not my rubber costume
until i'm back
salt deposits run out with the tears
fat deposits thin out at night:
the water doesn't like overweight
|
|
the doll
i bent
and the blot was left on the spot of the cut
i bent there and back
and the round hole shuddered
and ridged at the bend
i straightened out
and took to my lying up
the mouth
has jammed
it threw me
i bent i cramped to the floor
the window lit up
but it's dark all about it
at the bend of the arm the crack is dragging its ache
and down
i bent up
and the bucket of plastic's in place of my head
the rectangular hole of the mouth
circular from the leg
i bent
i happened
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* * *
! !
(
)
! !
( / ,
)
3/4
3
4: !
!
|
* * *
extraordinary! unauthorized!
(screams in the street
the magazine on the windowsill)
unexpected! emergency!
a bloody black-and-white at the spread,
for a coin in the boy's groping hand
unhurriedly
smoothing the big
wide
glossy paper
over the tabletop
with the photo of the scream
and grabbing whatever comes to hand
you spill
3/4 of the liquid and then
the remaining 3 glasses out
of 4: extraordinary!
the blood from the throat!
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up
the facebones are tight with the bitter
the desk
and the writhes are tendre
everywhere a half-
a third-
up-
the desk.
setting against it.
the facebones fear to be up
resistence
sit. the armchair.
the desk.
the temple against the edge
up-
the juice sets the teeth on edge
the desk
the writhes worsen
just touch
up- and
you'll crumple up
the desk.
up-
desk
up-
up-
up-
|
* * *
?
:
|
* * *
do you hear the strips and the airfield
this is something exile falling
unfolding the air with its body
along the wave
dissecting its cracked surface
the time has fallen with the word
the word and the time disdained ignoring the space
and its rustling phonetics
crumbling the flaming squamae and foam
from the shards of cracks and the traverse
chronodecussation
transchronoarticulation
chronospatiacrosssection
truncocreation
justdoomsday
resolution
of the chronocontraction:
yours
you
is all
that
is not falling ever
|