The Hole of Rock’n’roll

Same socks for the fouth day,lips red as settings sun,tale so free and puffy,hand holding a coffee cup with beer –so I stand on the planet.
The last gurgles of a male choir.A tradition if fullfilled,and there is no more to come.
The last song festival or Oktoberfest,the last Canterbury festival,the last summe solstice,the last war in Afganistan.
There are moment I have no ideawhich handle to pull.How to influence the world machineso it won’t crush me?
A toothbrush it the only itemconnecting me and humanity.I spit the deep thoughtsinto the sinkand get myselft ready.
It’s almost evening when they drive us somewhere.It’s almost empty, the community hallwhere the native are showna poet,who’s on an unpaid leavefor the fifth year in row,needed by everybody,invited to events –like a big black butterflyit the ceiling of it’s own room.
And then it’s overas is never to repeat itself.The buttles shed their hatsto honour the youth.And there you stand,just by the counter,young and hotlike a iron in gas state.
Now there’s no shameto be famous,to laugh and swagger,make fool of myselfand then sport profoundness,to the be first fish to grow legs,to stands of a bar tableand after thatjust tell her: “Let’s leave this place”.
The coolness rises from the dark riverthrought thin branches.It’s not summer yet, but the juices are flowing.You get nakedto the pleasure of all anglers.And I choose the pathback to nature.
The people are are in the bus again,the fallen friends and laughed about.All of the rise from the dead –an army of zombies takes the stage.
The girl looks as ifshe carries a pussycat in her purse.Somewhat shy,somewhat confident.
This journey is forever.The yellow gold of late summerflowing by the windowsand I am not awareif it’s this or the next autumn on the way.
Three rows to the frontsits a crestfallen Icaros,looking at me as if to say:
“You ain’t gonna catch that sun.”
All lifetime with the same pair of socks,wings flutteringlike an impotent Pegasus.The rich tits of the worldforce into the submissive face –still I manage to get upand escape to the wilderness.
Where could I find a paper so cleanthat all the words wouldn’t seem dirty?How awry must the park bench beso that the humanswould drop from it?Whoops and whoopslike candies in a factory.
Honest questions pulsate in my head.I take a mouth full of moonshineand forget it all.
Now it’s time.Now I’m really here.Right here in this moment,directly and knowing nothings.
I’m surrounded by snowdriftand dandellions,rosehips are in bloomand the lindend trees shed gold,as if they don’t pitythe yellow billowing rye fields.
And I feel –I just have to take one stepto cross this green hilland there, in front meit opens –the hole of rock’n’roll.