Mark Boog

Salt seeker - seeing tall waves with wide eyes,
not knowing how to catch. But in the stagnant
the selfish only find themselves, and of silence
...

Water, aspirin, you. The sun burns!
The wind strikes holes into the leaves!
It grips! Time crowing ticks
...

Small house, but throw a ball through it some time
and it becomes quite large. See all those metres,
aren't they ours? And stroll perhaps as if
...

So it must be:
as - no other way! - trees in the city
reaching for the sky, as we are for the evening,
as time passing us by, as we to each other.
...

With ever greater playful ease
I counter the attacks
on my hard-won indifference.
...

Old fortune (not for sale)
in old rooms. Isn't that wonderful?
...

Somewhere, one of these days, arose in perhaps a far land
the steamroller driver who is now searching for
the steamroller in the corner of this room,
...

It must have been visible:
the execution of the sentence upon us,
slowly now, still not completed.
We soon shrivelled up, ahead of realisation.
...

It's all there, everything, but not wholeheartedly. It
apologises: every painter would have done this better.

To me, softy, to save the day.
...

So without worry are we,
making this house a place of refuge,
following with just a glance
...

The evening draws near; I lay myself out.
Solace is sought in preservative wine
and much is found. The same as dregs
...

Even this little could burn.
From the ashes nothing
rises, an empty bird,
that I won't attempt to catch.
...

The chill, called morning, lies calmly on the burnt land.
A distant, grey murmur can be heard: the calm, wide sea,
luring us listlessly, much too used to victories.
...

Our tender-hearted companions we left behind,
looking into their soon to moisten eyes one more time;
...

Then the sea presents itself in which we can be salt;
a slow vaporisation dawns,

a life-long vaporisation that won't touch us.
...

We, as I, can hardly digest this. Seas and
mountain ranges, lying promisingly before us, fade
into something worse. You, in my place, look at me and hesitate.
...

There is also salt in the sea but the salt in the ground is more costly.
We dig until digging has become second nature to us,
underground. (Dive in as laboriously as possible,
...

Wrath, blue fire with red tongues,
licks these days clean. The stockade
in the winter morning, groans and will fall.
...

Happiness is surmountable. One places it
in a glass case and goes to work.
Those who ask are allowed to see it,
accompanied by a balanced commentary.
...

The sky lies flat on the ground,
invisible and solid.

You are dressed in the colour of your hair,
...