NOT REVOLVERS Poem by Rogi Wieg

It's raining, the last flowers let
go, but people blossom.

Hölderlin reads clearly for a bit,
then grows obscure; curtains are

drawn in daytime. Doors close
without keyholes. It rains hard.

Yet: beings think the world is getting
better, women draw lipstick

not revolvers. Women bathe children,
but heaven turns their water black.

Yet: time unfolds to give people
more time and now Hölderlin will snigger a bit

at the last pears. But he's wrong:
it's his madness that dances to the tune of ash.

It's raining, the last flowers
Strew children on the old earth.

And Hölderlin bends over his poem,
deletes some words, drinks and prays.