On this wintry canvas
I regard my own breath
as a white phantom

your satori is
late – see – decades of years
faded away in vain

the heaped bed of snow
is spinning away in flames—
dream of the wheat seed

from the children’s hands
the snow-white paper pieces
fall into powder

Seventeen syllables
marinate it a little:
a small philosophy

Someone in the night
has been biting into the
nose of the snowman

Holy Emptiness.
Jesus is sleepin’ in the
Shadow of Buddha . . .

In the washing bin
the dishes are piled up as
our empty years

In our letter-box
A pair of tits is dwelling.
Careful with that letter!

Hic et nunc, ad hoc
amor omnia vincit.
Cash and carry please!

From finger-end to stove
falls a drop of water
hisses, and disappears

New Year’s Morning
The thrown-away paper trumpet
spits blood to the snow

Museum garden.
An ever-moving small man
comforts the stone sculptures

What has been assured
to me I accept with peace
the ROAD’s difficult

So many blood drops
Rose hips are going to red
summer passes away

Ancient tombstones
the illegible names are of
very young soldiers

nudist beach:
Adam and Eve exchange
e-mail addresses

Meadow flowers
So many times trampled
Now grow earthward

in front of my feet
sat a bird, and then took flight
now I’m heavier.

behind an old hut
I drink from the well
of the Past.

behind the curtain
Purulence flows from the dream
into a big bowl

In the beggar's hand
my grandfather's sooty face
a piece of black bread

In the sweet spring sky
The light of shining Venus
Shadows Jupiter

End of the millennium
Instead of progress, the hangman
tends to us

I am writing lines
over and over and pray
for immortality

My dream: a secret
Star, which helps me fly away
to my passed mother

Sometimes in our dreams
the blooming trees are chatting
to you: Liberty!

Already half past two!
How quickly
a year has passed

On the monitor
the lively sine-wave becomes
a horizontal line

Merry Christmas
The twentieth century's napkins
Are hanging on bars

Eights spots, this
is the dream
of the ladybird