you open my heart like a window
through which the blue sky smiles
while natter intelligently about magic
and comparing it to the taste of cream and juice
you open my heart like a window
through which the blue sky smiles
and I know that the poems are being printed today
and before noon I board the Vienna express
simplicity folded calmly
these were no crumbs of sugar
they would take too long for this morning’s pastry
they were the pieces I folded into my feet
on a train I made myself look good
I swapped coffee with tea and now
I am expecting the fullness of a different flavour
when I saw him last he said
he hates Irwins they annoy him
but in the meantime I ponder
that it’s time to read das Kapital
that it’s time to listen to das Kapital
that it’s time to watch das Kapital
that it’s time for neo-NSK
that it’s time to renovate the spaces and renovate the looks
that it’s time for folk art
for living in the village
for village customs and joys
for brandy and rye
for art that opens hearts and clears the veins
as the institution too often is as a hard mother
that combs hard or painfully
in the meantime I check if he wrote
he who is afraid of emptiness
because nina is in emptiness
will I mess it up again I wonder or he will this time
because then meeting is only hindrance
like blundering in the desert of the puzzling mind
I have you under my skin
he wrote
I admire the phrase it was his gift
we play with words
you form sentences of my superego
I replied
you open my heart like a window
through which the blue sky smiles
because magic is homed in a relation
because my poems are being printed
but reading erotic poetry may not be for men
I conclude
not even for him who wrote
and with a blue in my step
I enter
Vienna