Kategorie: réverbère
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Lords of Depravity
witches to be hunted, angels to be ripped apart, I had you down as a simple man but not one who regrets —the trap of desire snaps: a mutilating difference working hands know calloused fingers feel better you don’t read poetry, you dress in leather I want your jet black jacket and your body in…
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Zosimos came to me in a dream
I must have wanted him to teach me the secrets of the lesser and the noble metals instead he cited 80s thrash and scorching aphorism: it is hard not to hate women if you don’t feel sorry for them he whispered a question as yellow as the divine distillation: if you’d finally lifted that disregard…
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guten Menschen geht es immer schlecht
do those howling guitars make me horny or is it the hormones or your lickable smile I was never into Manowar that much but you must have noticed my eyes, my lines my secret is out in the open, râz-e penhânam—luckily he isn’t here for the infatuation evidence luckily he will not read these poems…
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the year all our fathers died
… and didn’t even get a eulogy, I knew for some of us it was too late to live. Me, I was too busy anyway writing love poems for someone I, well, loved. Everywhere I went it smelled of their hair, gingery and creamy. But that’s not what I wanted to tell you about. Fathers.…
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jàmm rekk
es ist noch kein Text erfunden, der allen aus der Seele spricht, aber wie wäre es damit dass andere Saiten erlaubt sind und meine Wut nicht unverzeihlich ist, wenn auch erschöpfend dass sie nicht von irgendwoher kommt dass die Sterne in meinem Gesicht immer mehr werden dass ich den meisten Ärzt*innen nicht vertrauen kann wenn…
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Kesiah Mason has a laugh
Speechless as the student discovers the hidden homestudio of Kesiah Mason, who has been responsible for all the hit songs of the past 35 years. Kesiah snorts: „Who did you think could write such an extensive body of music full of repetition? Surely not 236 artists.“ „But what about Slash?“, the student asks incredulously. „What…
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Parce qu’elle est lâche
MY FRIENDS ALL WEAR YOUR COLORS YOUR FLAG FLIES ABOVE EVERY DOOR BUT BITCH I SMELL YOU BLEEDING AND I KNOW WHERE YOU SLEEP DO YOU DOUBT ME TRAITOR THROW YOUR BODY IN THE FUCKING RIVER IM THE CUNTKILLER (LINGUA IGNOTA, DO YOU DOUBT ME TRAITOR) last night I dreamt your ex stabbed you 23…
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tie thy lungs to the bay of Naples
dein Zwillingsbruder hat mich auf fragwürdige Weise erzogen; wenn du rauchend in deiner Residency sitzt, überlegst du, was aus mir geworden ist? Die Welt, wie sie war, aus Ochsenblut & Rollenspielen, die Welt, erklärt von bärtigen Nietzsche- Lesern, die Welt, in der ich möglichst viele Fremdwörter lernte, um zu überleben; mit neunzehn die Welt als…
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Arsch der Welt
it’s not just the weather you hate about my country, I know the colours of mud & indifference the heavy skies, too little fun yet too-much-meaning-people, nation of loneliness and contempt hostility as a hobby constant reek of self-important men with sagging cheeks, their poems shaping the last century like wooden bars on both sides…
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getting used (to it)
do they say brutalist – I wouldn’t know, because I’m not a well- defined man: but the church in its grey assembly of walls— a concrete burden— brings suits to mind, dark ties, an afternoon with a late 50s stench, no light. clouds cower in the brittle air, it is February, of course, all through…
Die gelbe Tapete 