But it was good Poem by Lutz Seiler

to breathe, out
& in the breathing went in the plaster boat
of the lamp, we had
its dark, mechanical light, we had alpaka
near the ashtray, the nails, chipped
& lonely like crusoe in the slate, deep

inside the radio the radio child slept with
tubes & relays which it alone
understood, a clinking
like from big ships, a flashing, something
between off in the evenings, then
quietly on again: alone

in the dark came
the frequencies later no longer to be found, local
frequencies of ageing, erased
villages &
their weak chromosome hatching on
the scales - i

saw crusoe, my father, he
went into baptism, his temples in the wood
he came home, thus laughed
a man with a radiating hand, his hissing, his
crackling, they hear
how everything is ending, slipped, two
legs the coastline the soft
forking of feet in the crotch

Translated by Hans-Christian Oeser & Gabriel Rosenstock