Im Brustkorb eine Standuhr,
Monströs, verziert und alt,
Jetzt schlägt sie grade dreizehn,
Geräusch, das rasch verhallt.
Im Kopf ein Topf voll Pudding,
Geschmacklos, kalt, mit Haut,
Ich schüttel ihn, er schwabbelt,
Erst laut, dann nicht mehr laut.
1
typedef double (*TDLLEstimateTime)(int,int,int,int,int);
2
TDLLEstimateTime DLLEstimateTime;
3
DLLEstimateTime = (TDLLEstimateTime)GetProcAddress(PsiDLLHI, “EstimateTime”);
4
double EstimateTime(int rep, int n1, int n2, int n3, int n4) {
if (SetupDLL()==1) return DLLEstimateTime(rep,n1,n2,n3,n4);
return 0;
};
If you get lost, just follow your heart.
It is lost as well, and blind on top,
But at least this way
No matter where
You’ll always have
Your heart.
Second stanza,
adding some
much needed
irony.
More important than seeing
something made
is seeing it
unmade
For what matters most
is was hinten
rauskommt.
Bike pushed past the ghosts of cars,
Asphalt cracked like glass,
Grasses grew and withered on the faults
Drying in the sun.
The sun sets down,
mud of poisoned river.
I shiver with anticipation,
Of winters yet to come.
Come back from Rite Aid,
Two plastic bags lend meaning,
leans against the wind
and treads on parallel path.
To me this place is wasteland,
decaying, battered, polluted,
Displaying spoils of battle
She wanders to her home.
Necks stretched long,
Ruffled feathers sparing me a wary eye
little minds accept the offering,
me moved, yet silent, still.
From above an apparition,
brown, wet, a twitching tail,
drops among them,
– in avian surprise
they scatter and are gone.
Stepping close I lift a finger,
imagine furry warmth,
but seeing this the stranger startles,
and drops the seed, and lifts his tail,
hisses something in a foreign voice,
and flees me for the freezing rain.
If I don’t live in Hoboken
It’s not just Lackawanna,
I also couldn’t pay the rent,
And prolly nevaganna.
Ein Auto in die Einfahrt eines Hauses, Blitz und Knall,
Reifen heulen, der Student fällt und stirbt in den Armen eines Freundes.
“Random Shooting”: Sonntag früh.
Im Süden der Stadt, ein Mann vergeht.
Mehrere Kugeln, der Kongressabgeordnete lebt
Ein paar Häuser entfernt: Sonntag nacht.
Achtzehn Jahre schiessen achtzehn Jahren ins Bein,
Erwidertes Feuer trifft den Kopf des Schützen,
Verblutet selbst am Rand der Strasse: Montag abend.
Drei angeschossen nahe Branch Brook Park School,
Zwei ins Gesicht, einer ins Bein,
Zwei auf der Flucht, ein Bus voller Zeugen: Dienstag morgen.
Stabbed by the light, by beauty, by the day,
The network, falling silent,
Becomes a lump of fat and blood.
But sensing night and seeing lack,
Frantically firing electrical sparks,
Numbing brain, it awakes,
Shivers adrift in the empty sea of all.
Lonely screens showed this at night,
The fear of an absence of message,
Creating bad news from nil, noisy chatter,
The frosty hold of a particle winter.
This was all and it was nothing,
The birth of the nothing from the all was in this snow,
Covering dark earth, putting old eyes to sleep.
Now fragments of humanity cast through the air,
Around the clock, unending and repeating,
At speed of light and broadband, piercing skull and mind,
Melt snowy voices in my soul.
Their endless turquoise river,
Heralding a spring of end,
A going to sleep of all awakening,
Will mask the absence
Of each word.
Hard concrete cold, shore of an asphalt sea,
Pavonia Summit Central, sitting dumb,
Colorless, squinting, cutting, slow,
Among the wrecks of stone as others drift,
Consuming suited people, shitting bricks on bums.
Now, stumbling, old, a tiny woman’s tiny steps,
“It’s gorgeous out” she says and looks and means it,
Moving past and driving me away.
Then change of light and movement on the black,
On oily tension, road and steel and stone.
I ponder differentials, equations,
The echo in the empty space inside each piece of all,
Ah, how I fear this crossing over liquid shell,
And how I fear.
“If they can do it, you can”,
– the candy wrapper at my feet,
When I have gone and sunk below
A wind will pick it up and bring it home.
JC, 8.4.8