Gib dem Affen Zucker
Around the corner in the curve, between the lines where the rosemary grows, and in your breath.
In meiner Muttersprache, and in tomorrow's hills when the night goes fishing.
This body of work is moving. I am alive and you, dear stranger, as well.
The pleasure is all mine.
Walk my words
The words are getting nervous. They want to go out for a walk. One even starts to hiss, another makes scratching sounds. I put all of them in my mind and try not to stumble when I open the door. 'Key key key!' That word is small but very important. Sometimes it hides and brings me into trouble, but this time it decided to be visible and bounces helpfully up and down in front of me. Outside, I can see my breath. 'Atemwolke!' The German words usually are the fastest. After a few steps I reach the bridge. (...) A bear and a rat are making a fire in the middle of it. The bear approaches me. “Have you seen my socks?” I nod. “I made a sculpture out of them recently, wearing them as a hat.”