Every area has its weathered looks.
This is a poor one.
Lost in forks in the road,
cut up by the sturdy thicket,
There are houses on the ridge,
how little knights. Their armor, wooden,
are bleached black and become thinner and
thinner. And even though they are decaying, defy
them of the time. Always has.
What are you looking for here?
There's nothing to get here.
No embalmed pharaoh is buried here,
No stone has a name,
only a few people are lying underground, which
hard labor at a plow, never greeted
a stranger. No, No way.
Wants to give way to the past,
The past wants to become more powerful,
when you get off the road of the present time,
as if from a short-lived fart. Or
Have you misguided yourself??
But yes, but no.
I look in the rearview mirror
and this one sucks me in so deeply and deeper.
As if I had a stiff neck.
And so I would have to wave.
The houses, in which I see you and myself.
Therefore.
People spread across a chessboard,
that undulates like a rusty sheet,
like heads with nails, walk over conveyors,
a Einfränkler, it gets stuck in the slot.
And you have to forget him. This is the present,
always has. civilization, the rich one.
That's the little one, private imperfection.
Why don't you turn back?? Sag?
Have you misguided yourself??
Only dropouts get lost in this area.
No pharaoh is buried here. Just little people.
Whether you work hard, they can tell you from the outside
say. Or if you're just decaying. Stranger,
they will not welcome you.
To get to this area, you need one
Ground! Always has.
Don't say, that you saw your withering look
have in the rearview mirror. That's not one.
Don't say, that you become a nail,
it's in the landscape. Weathering like one
Haus. It never was. (a reason). And never will be.
And what will never be, it's so.
Lost in forks in the road,
cut up by the sturdy thicket,
placed on the ridge; so light-hearted people can
Artists dance? Beetles survive, with such a thin shell?
Bleached black.
But there is so much green!
And green is hope? And although I
doesn't know, how hospitality works,
I invite you,
I have forgotten it, to forget,
And tell you: there is nothing to get,
I'm small, not yet underground.
Don't be frightened. I am a poor one.
(27.7.24)