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Gedicht / Poem The ink-black veins are strangling the light, A mosaic of madness, fractured and bright. Red screams against the blue, While the cage of logic cuts the view. We dance in triangles of trapped desire, Fueling the geometric, silent fire. Die tintenschwarzen Adern erwürgen das Licht, Ein Mosaik des Wahnsinns, das die Form zerbricht. Das Rot schreit gegen das Blau an, Während der Käfig der Logik den Blick zerschneiden kann. Wir tanzen in… read more – weiterlesen Gefangene Farben im Gitternetz der Vernunft / Imprisoned Colors in the Grid of Reason

Gedicht / Poem The Obsidian Silhouette A jagged peak of violet bone, Standing in the rain alone. The brow is heavy with a leaden sky, Where silent, ink-stained ravens fly. Not a face, but a cliff of regret, In a world that hasn’t happened yet. Crimson shadows on a teal-green floor, Knocking on a non-existent door. Die obsidiane Silhouette Ein gezackter Grat aus violettem Bein, Steht im Regen ganz allein. Die Stirn ist schwer vom… read more – weiterlesen Düstere Gedanken im Profil (Dark Thoughts in Profile)

Gedicht / Poem The Primal Snout Crimson orbits in a pink-hued gale, A story told without a tail. Thick strokes of blood and muddy earth, Witnessing the moment of a messy birth. No lines to hold the spirit in, Just the raw texture of a painted skin. The void is green, the center is fire, A snout rising from a colorful pyre. Der Ur-Rüssel Karminrote Bahnen im rosa Wind, Wo die Anfänge der Borste sind…. read more – weiterlesen Elementare Ansichte eines Schweins (Elementary View of a Pig)

Gedicht / Poem The Magma of Memory A snout of fire in a throat of ash, Where the dreams of the farm and the lava clash. The ground is a swirl of burning red, Mourning the words that were never said. No mud to cool the fevered skin, Just the glowing heat of the soul within. The mountain screams a sulfurous song, For a pig that waited much too long. Das Magma der Erinnerung Ein… read more – weiterlesen Das Schwein trauert im Vulkan (The Pig Mourns in the Volcano)

Gedicht / Poem The Squared Grunt A snout composed of primary fears, Echoing through the silent years. The horizon is a purple line, Where the sun and the slaughterhouse entwine. Not a beast, but a map of the mind, Leaving the mud of the farm behind. Measured by shadows, cut by the light, A borstiges vision in the neon night. Der quadratische Grunz Ein Rüssel, gebaut aus Primär-Verdruss, Der durch die Jahre hallen muss. Der… read more – weiterlesen Dieses Schwein hat Format (This Pig Has Format)

Gedicht / Poem The Frozen Scoop of Sorrow Blue shadows drip like melting cream, A sugar-cone lost in a winter dream. Tucholsky’s ghost wants a lemon zest, But the shuttered window offers no rest. A face built of shards, a nose of cold, The story of summer is silver and old. No sprinkles for the heart of lead, Just the frost of the city instead. Die gefrorene Kugel Kummer Blaue Schatten tropfen wie schmelzendes Eis,… read more – weiterlesen Das traurige Gesicht vor der im Winter geschlossenen Eisdiele (The Sad Face in Front of the Ice Cream Parlor Closed in Winter)

Gedicht / Poem The Surgical Rainbow A scalpel of light, a suture of blue, Dissecting the world to find something true. Tucholsky hums a nursery rhyme, While Kubin counts the pulse of time. Ten thousand cells in a neon dance, Logic collapses in a colorful trance. The chart is a map of a phantom pain, Painted in markers, washed by the rain. Der chirurgische Regenbogen Ein Skalpell aus Licht, eine Naht aus Blau, Seziert die… read more – weiterlesen Meine Nichte studiert Medizin und probiert Acrylstifte mit mir aus Teil 2 (My niece is studying medicine and tries out acrylic markers with me Part 2)

Gedicht / Poem The Clinical Prism A scalpel made of violet ink, Faster than a weary eye can blink. Tucholsky’s ghost in a lab coat white, Dissecting shadows in the neon light. Kubin’s pulse in a turquoise vein, Washing away the textbook’s pain. The diagnosis? A beautiful mess, Wrapped in an acrylic-stained dress. Das klinische Prisma Ein Skalpell aus violetter Pracht, Schneller als ein müdes Auge wacht. Tucholskys Geist im weißen Kittel, Sucht gegen die… read more – weiterlesen Meine Nichte studiert Medizin und probiert Acrylstifte mit mir aus Teil 1 (My niece is studying medicine and tries out acrylic markers with me Part 1)

Gedicht / Poem The Clinical Congestion A nose of prisms, a sneeze of light, Trapped in the hallways of sterile white. Kafka’s doctor lost the file, Beneath a green and jagged smile. The virus dances in tiles of blue, Waiting for a red-hot cue. One eye watches the petri dish, Granting a pale, infectious wish. Die klinische Verstopfung Eine Nase aus Prismen, ein Nieser aus Licht, In Fluren gefangen, wo die Stille bricht. Kafkas Doktor… read more – weiterlesen Der Schnupfen im B.Institut (The Sniffles at the B. Institute)