Hi – ho, good hearts, once again today …. so … a longer thought lost thing … enjoy!
Unconnected from the outside And I do not recognize a reason – to be connected I look at the house A section of something Something strange In front of a window that I do not see, In front of a window presumption Are three birds tied to rods tied and the restraints also suspicions invisible And yet more More noticeable than expected CONSCIOUS fetters you can not see If the voice is inside, out of the house, out of the window If the voice is not If they say nothing, not groan, how little they complain Would not I know the noise of the Shackled birds The voice is voluptuous As the queen of the cheerleader sluts kneeling in front of her greedy, confident, with wide open eyes, elongated tongue and half-open mouth: “2 days ago I turned 18, but I’ve been sucking dick for 5 years … Well , you know .., you can feel it … “This voice praises the sounds Or the one who binds the birds, so they make a noise The voice spri respects him and moans ecstatically:
“It’s like a sonnet, heavenly! Go on! Hmmmhhh … “Outside shimmers air heat rural air full of green and brown fecal matter, which one” distorted archaic “in the ass tattooed red-cheeked bogus health freshly plastered house wall And I remember the spotless sidewalk ancestor confused Alarmed More and more confirmed I recognize me something Forgetting me, ousting, hiding And locked away Maybe I feel my stranger In there In this house Behind the magic window Only visible from inside Am I? Yes, me But my stranger That’s out there moans Maybe more understands no Likely no less than I glued his gaze to the wax plumage of a white bird. And me-me-outside-me-outside-me Look to the right
Next to the still tolerant, domesticated white chicken That still holds my stranger captive The trembling hawk Squawking wildly, restless, anxious An infarct patient at the end of his street I see the hunter caught Satisfied
Harmful Harm Happy Reminding me To a sheer perfect blue sky From which he fell down with my guilt Immediately buried in a stiffening Relaxed With the burden of pasts Immutable And unbearable Like silent accusation And granted forgiveness Killing pride And so the hunter dies now , As a bird One of three Tied, stapled, chained to erect desires instead of the third In third of the birds only a “tack-tack-tack” high heels piece woman steps And the image of a young man A mugshot A wanted poster in a foreign language Again recognize recognition Schier incredible, the ferocity of my eyes there the plump, wild hair contours and faith and will and rejecting everything so decisively so strong What today become dull Bleached Tired and disillusioned shrug out of my mirror looking back at it has everything going on there and want me do not sleep tonight not tonight send me pictures and birds grotesque obscene truths exhibitionist clarity that stops at nothing not even before the night’s sleep, which an elderly gentleman urgently needs the wardrobe bosses wants to take it from me The older man And I should tip the tip So filled with beauty Should I tell her rather give hope And not just a band, because she must dream Will never see her birds Know nothing of the moaning stranger in her Not meeting her youth But listening to me Making me sound Feeling with me Wavering on heavy legs Hang coats In the 31st year. While I do mine as her poets.
OK? Alright, good hearts? I thought so. Then clean, but very casual!
We, good hearts, all know what we have to do over and over, and if we forget, we’ll read it here
And then … we do it – do it – do it!