Mutely, like large dreams witnessing the moon:
flowers hardly live here, the world’s packed it in;
you realize too late what your life foretold:
your life – false heaven! or thundering hell!
no rose bush stands above all loves;
in “sentimental” winds, industrial gases churn:
it turns the nose and gut, lungs breathe it in –
my rotting brain screams! I start to think:
like a Neanderthal on whose face
appears by chance the twist of rationality:
Chaos! and we proudly become brain-beings!
…that I fly from all this, forever and far.
I’ve sought my tiny home forever because –
resigned – I’m already seeking my own calm:
I walk the valley of green and silent dreams.