(Apples)
Every week or so,
the handcrafted bowl on the kitchen table
is filled with apples.
Rarley are they eaten.
And so
every week
the apples, soft and without shine
are thrown outside for the birds,
who dont eat them either.
Every week or so,
the handcrafted bowl on the kitchen table
is filled with apples.
Rarley are they eaten.
And so
every week
the apples, soft and without shine
are thrown outside for the birds,
who dont eat them either.
His girlfriend went to Berlin,
he moved into her flat.
Now he is allowed to mess around
and other things like that.
He brought himself a new guitar
then severed all the strings
and promised that he`d sound a note
if she would only sing.
Street light pours
emptilly
through the second story apartment window.
Outstretched arms of a candelstick
paint still shadows
over a punched tram ticket
and several small coins.
And still,
I think about neccessity.
With you
it took so long
to get dressed each morning.
Your neighbours,
Who named themselves artists,
Kept in their garden
All they needed for creation.
We stole the picture frames but left the religious statues.
I wake to lovers being put to bed.
I still can’t listen to their favourite songs.
Now the silence between us,
is all we have between us.
(From a while ago)
A friend wrote me a message on my birthday.
In the message he noted that Dostoyevski was my doppelganger,
and attached the photo for me to see for myself.
I could see the resemblenace.
Only in the shape of his face, and maybe nose and eyes.
My friend had been saving the picture for some time, as he knew a would like it,
because occasionaly I can be a vain fucker
and preoccupied with lesser things, as boys are.
He then stated that he had wanted to send it earlier,
when I wasnt able to attend a concert with him and a close group of friends,
because i wasnt around.
However, the concert was cancelled and so instead, he sent it to me on my birthday.
Bern, Summer 2013.