QUIVER-LIFE

The slimy, slimy pain creeps in, it makes the rabbit-tail nerve hiss; under your sweaty clothes a cold settles in the winter chill that greets the bruise. It creeps in on you like a molecular army of fierce germs, like a sneaking, insidious killer at war - all right!

Only drugs can reopen your body's prison-cell barrier! You can stare dumbly like a dumb sheep at your then failed failures: what could have given birth to the gorgon-headed Time-wearing little kings, the skirt-wearing little gods?! Now you must pickle them by prescription, like smoked ham in the torture chamber, for you are forced to fight a battle with your organs! You may now examine your own conscience, as a diligent judge, with interest: why did you have to be so often a bastard for virtue, when you knew yourself that you were not the one who had the unattainable profit?

Now the hellish golgotha-quiver is driving you on, To make your vision-making holy fever linger; You long for unattainable visions of heaven and your Beloved, And stubbornly you fight on with your wicked Time, which keeps you in a corner! Thou showest thy Adam-suited life. Whispering words of reckoning still, still like swarms of bees, buzzing in thy listening ears.

You have ploughed yourself into confession countless times, if there is still a glowing emotion for each other-you offer up your shipwrecked life like a fiery parade of loyalty; the summing wailing cry, the childish plea, trembling in my chest: 'Darling, where are you?! Waiting for me with embracing tenderness in kiss-flavoured night? My pain, that I am anxious for all, Like a diligent, straggling cock, I hear my heart's tale, Still in the cages of my rib-cage I hear my heart's tale, And now I can only hope, that after my years of loneliness, I may yet find Someone, I am sure!