Saturday, April 07, 2007


To Ivan....

In small installments
The liturgies have turned so deaf
To the endless plight of your neck
And no man is able to keep his faith
In a world of necessity opposed to delight
I myself
Can no longer bear the prolongued silence
Of the creation, of the creatures
Pander through manifold streets, absent from my own person
Consumed by thoughts that no longer befind a time
Consumed by remembering, by pleasures of a former joy
And in such harmony
I keep my silences too
Unpraying all day, earthing the goods of the covenant
Making them pass for lies, for surrenders
Victorious flames, that know no heaven no more
Bodily odours combined with estrangement
Distract me from the hymnal, from the formness
And I remain hush in her presence
With all the love of the Christian woman
That washes my hand from my own soil
That feeds my notebooks with journeys to the sea
But I cannot hope
For the liturgy to be heard
Not in a place like this
Yet without any further station in sight
It is in your hands to prove
That faith is only a form of hope
Whilst I remain in the desert
Eating from the hands of the Christian woman
The totality of our otherness, our compassion
And I be not sure, whether this is what I wanted
In my current feeble-mindedness
My intimate embarrassment

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