Sitting at the Barns and Nobel

I would like to have these words published
As a little satisfaction of own vanity,
as a cry of my own to many idle
as a whisper to many who still listen.

I would like to see myself open that little, thin book
with no more pages than I have thoughts
and realize that I haven't read this one yet.
I mean, I've seen it plenty of times but now, I think, I understand.

I don't blame myself for having petty desires
for, I like to read my scribbles out loud.
What sin would it be to put them all on paper
on one of the shelves of an endless bookstore,
quietly, very quietly
so my friends would finally get some peace
of not being forced to read scraps of paper
or neat print-outs
when they have other things on their mind!

For this reason alone this will never happen.

Poetry, Prose and Things Decidedly In-Between

How many times
have you invited your friends
to try the food in your favorite little place
that you tend to frequent for some senseless,
or rather sense-full reason;

because you like it?

When we happen to like a tiny Chinese restaurant
on the out-skirts of a loud city
we seem to forgive many inconsistencies
in the story of our devotion:

dirty napkins and the deadly potion (in the third jar from the left).

And suddenly, you realize
that you´ve turned into a busy-body salesperson
of your own dream to others.

And with some luck someone will stop you,
and make everyone dream out their own lives.

...

Some ideas are worth forgetting...