Lwiw 1998

What does one really know of the country
one comes from of the city
in which streets houses Habsburg-yellow
tired strange the hand outstretched
to old women headscarf lily of the valley lilac
in front of the station’s dome is the market one of the many
synagogues were once the eye’s ledge
now asphalt where men lay on the ground
pickles bread not old
but toothless their legs to the right now the left
now everywhere remaining in other countries
girls quiver by on pencil tips
with skirts so light their hair waving dark
in chestnut-blooming-May and we of the west
spellbound always spellbound and inert
like reptiles in alternating wars

Easy Equation

Listen up, and let‘s finish this here. We make
a full stop. All together. Depressionwave.
Don‘tlikeanymore-grumbling. Doomsdaygibberish.
Apocalypsesound. Now take a deep breath. And out.
And clap your hands, onetwothree.
Feeling better? Folks, let’s do something.
For instance on this greengolden Monday.
Such a greengolden Monday will melt away from us,
otherwise. Easy equation. We will now
train our gaze in another direction.
That means, hey, not so fidgety over there,
we will walk on our head today.
Calcium discharge in the synapses, refreshing.
Already new images are rushing through our brain, when
we’re wishing tottering toads, after the morning rain shower,
a day without an accident. Eye to eye.
Does it make sense to us? Proposal:
Selfies close to the edge, you know, one step
back – no need for that. Here are the spray guns,
Special edition. Yes, it‘s a lot of work, but it makes
beauty and art. Let‘s go, whiten the cities.
High German: whiiiitewashiiiing. Apart from that
nothing will be whitewashed. The ruins stay. That‘s also
how the angels see it. They pull the dead from the
mass grave, crunchcrunch go the zips, clean
what‘s left. They say aloud ALL NAMES.
Wipe blood, scab, dirt from the skin, eyes, private parts.
Later, and watch it very closely now, they,
the angels, scatter chalk. White arcs of light
up to the sky