Grass, With Double-S Poem by Floy Dy Ra Aka Floyd Floydson

Günter, the grass is dead,
now about you it grows
or may it greens now in us -
now you further write in the underground
'from the skin of the onion'
'from the advantages of the wind chickens'
from the Oskar who could do tones,
that glass allowed to break
and stopped to grow -
from the social democrats party
from the flounder which became your fish,
was drawn by you,
from the gloomy predictions after the fall of the Wall,
to the 'slating on a wide field',
where your grass again grow fast - like it
wanted to grow, as well as
your pipe fumed - beside the bag.
Nuts for the provisions for the journey,
if still - what had to be said
to the danger of the world peace,
to the lodger called fame
he had to be lent nobly
and to the graphic work
with rough edges,
he spoon-fed us with lasting effect
pictorial and
with aesthetic pleasure
and, besides stubbornly
through his pipe moved,
brown, gone yellow sheets,
ferments of his past,
head-births of the extinction
of the Germans - a Sisyphos of his time
a perfectly written, empty book
between his sheets -
our Grass now dries,
until we mend his pipe with it to us,
around word shells by the smoke squiggles
to blow, how a flounder
and to watch, besides, the female rat,
how she provokes clearing - in the reversing triangle,
while new teeths hear
a bag of nuts cracking.

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Floy Dy Ra,25/06/2015