(So what’s the story?)

It’s in a lonely place
the people are all around
but the bunker is isolated:
it feels strange
to be cut out
and yet, so near…
there’s a world out there
where they’re all smiles and noise
Sunday afternoon with sunglasses and ice-cream
-- why is she so isolated?
she can smell the sea and the bakery
why is she so lonely?

(what next?)

Change
switch
light switch
her huge eyes see
everything looks kind of green
the coldness of a fridge
and the fresh death
of edible items:
a change of light
and the perspective changes
surgically

On cold white tiles
blood, from what once was...
and became a nonsense today,
spilled from a piece of meat
heartless

The smell of bleach barely hidden
by mimic citrus
molecules that trick your brain
limbic paradises of yesterday
when she still had a choice,
now there is none and the smell
doesn’t even try to cover up
their greedy price tag
their greedy price tag
price tag

While she is sleeping,
I want to know;
gestapo nightmares
and gestalt therapies
the hissing of a whip
that I call “the snake”
and sneaking from the bathroom
I see, it lies there:
the corpse
its heart beats
but it’s a corpse
stripped, stricken
by my friend “the snake”

Analyzing
putting things on the freudian plate
of a partial balance,
knowing the rule
before the measurement
knowing…
analyzing all the same

(What did she say?)

Dimmer lights
and the world is grey
like the kitchen sink
the pale promise
the squalor
the broken promise
like a by-passed  morning

(What is the story?)

Child left alone
to play with vibrating
sounds of her theremin soul
hands in the air
up above
to lead the orchestra
suspended thoughts
and eyes open wide
to the presence of the world outside
-- outside the bunker

But inside
all is crime
and smell of chlorine
all is murder
her face is half-hidden
from presence half-human,
her honest determination
surrounded by darkness
yet always carrying the light within

Stains still remain
despite the executioner’s obsessive
quest for perfection;
she swears that she will
expose the deeds
and collects nauseous lies
nicotine stained nail
and the filth of years

The memory of  life
dripping like a red candle

Redeems

When the light comes in
through the cracks made
by the flowers in her
that called the rays inside,
she is up
standing, ready,
her sensitive skin drinks the changes
in the air
she is the witness

(What was the story?)

Lies thorns and bushes
tangled at her feet
kicked away,
senses overstimulated
by the reality of the world
outside the bunker
skin glows
tear-words flow

the rest is
over.