Brigitte Oleschinski Poems

on the beach, and up above along the twilit herringbone promenade, the stiff
stolid lamp disks, slogging ahead hour after hour the rubber
...

on the back of night, on her back naked

(and)

the space station low on the horizon, the sleeping hut on the slope, the genetic
...

leaf, in a most delicate bloodbath, your hand
touches me, far too blonde as it

flames
...

tumbles through a strange room, whirring high
above the building site honeycombs, the lorry road beds fanned out
...

hanging on your lips, I was your pleading
echo. I can only answer. When the wind catches me, I answer.
When the water in the empty foundations glistens, I answer.
You called me
...

that your closeness wasn't edible, empty
the way the stomach retches for your, spews
ist hunger for this high-whining tone
on every German frequency, spews
...

outside the hospital windows they dance away like midges, a swarm of gleaming
baby cells

above the windy plain, through which the light runs with all its fingers,
...

touches you. It's just your breath

misting the walls and in the corner
the upturned black bucket. Your breath
bubbles up and stinks
...

foreign trade-hives, blinking like black and yellow digits
ready for take off, until here at the rough outer wall, heads hanging
...

of the accordion drives the scraps down the pavement here - they all live
in the same neighborhood, the same defeat. Disguised. Between hubcap
...