Invitation

Not long ago
I decided to become my own home:
I will not depend on circumstances but be at home
in who I am

Here's a lot of space
right in the corner of my heart
you'll find the most wonderful places on earth
walk in, sit down

If you have pictures
I have rooms with high empty walls
and corridors that long to be filled with the sound
of your soft slippers

Don't worry
it's home, it's not the prison you're afraid of
I need to tell you this one thing: I would love
to have you around

I  long to see
your hand let go of the handle
of your old and shabby suitcase and tell you:
Welcome home.

My mind these days

Every now and then my mind gets lost in the library.
A library provides enough books, ideas and dark corners
to think of, at least, a dozen dirty academic adventures.
Odysseus might find what he's looking for after all,
Chomsky could come across some very basic
syntactic constructions, think of subject movement,
verb raising, dig deep in unknown functional categories,
Postcolonial Theory could revise its standing
on matters of submission and queer studies...
well, well, we don't have to go into that.
I often feel like I lose my mind, these days.
But at least I know where to look for it.

Doch oder doch nicht

Doch, doch, ich vermisse dich
dein verschlafenes, liebes Gesicht
Deine Verrücktheit, deine Zuversicht
ich vermisse deine schnellen Augen
die mich ohne Weiteres der Fassung berauben
und mir doch Grund gaben an die Liebe zu glauben
(wie kitschig. viel zu kitschig.)
Mir fehlen deine Hände
die so leicht, so sanft und so behende
in meinem Leben brachten eine Wende
und dein unglaublicher Humor
dem selbst ich auf ewig Gefolgschaft schwor.
(wie pathetisch. viel zu pathetisch.)

Aber mir fehlt nicht dein fehlender Mut
egal was deine Liebe mit meiner Seele tut
und auch nicht dein Getrieben-Sein
dein unermüdliches nach Aufmerksamkeit schreien.
Mir fehlt nicht dein ständiges Lügen
(ich kann mich auch alleine gut betrügen)
und ich vermisse nicht deine Inkonsequenz
die Geschwindigkeit, mit der du durch dein Leben rennst.
Nur manchmal wünsch ich mir etwas von deiner Fähigkeit zu verdrängen
Jetzt zum Beispiel.

Doch, doch, ich vermisse dich
dein verschlafenes, liebes Gesicht
Deine Verrücktheit, deine Zuversicht.
Aber mehr ist es dann doch nicht.

Pyromaniac (Prose Poem)

The tension of the moment before lips first meet
electricity as visible as the growing desire in your eyes
the air as heavy as an old Spanish red wine
the arousing thought that I don’t love you, that this is just a game. 
This is no fantasy- this is real: 
tenderness turning into warm brutality, 
thoughts exploding, you try to burn me down. Darkness.

The tension of the moment before two people part
the electrical line as dead as my broken dreams
the air as heavy as sulphuric tears
the horrifying thought that I don’t love you, that this is just a game. 
This is no fantasy- this is real: 
Brutal touches brushed away, your breath has left burn marks on my skin: 
Of the explosion I only remember the feeling of being burnt to ashes.

Daylight like water, pouring rain refreshes life, I won’t lose the faith in fire that produces heat without destruction. Out of the ashes I rise to see the future: Pheonix.

Play me like a piano

Play me like a piano
imagine your hands on cool ivory
feel the keys warm under your breath
Play the higher parts first
with diligence go down the scale
do not leave a single key untouched
practise every day
think of tension building up
with tender finger exercise

Rule out the fear of dissonances
improvise on the patterns of my melody
be patient and the day will come
when you finally perform a masterpiece
You'll listen to the crescendo of my soul
make me forget who I've been
when you evoke a thousand colours
out of my black-and-white thinking
play me like a piano.