Triztan Vindtorn



your ocean compass is bathing in sunshine and the prow is digging into white sand before stopping .. no footprints left by naked feet here nor any bird carcasses dissolved in salt only wet flapping sails clapping you on your back and wind across your sun-burned shoulders .. the Tristan albatross is still hovering over the mast-top polishing its scientific gaze against the surface of the sea this ocean on eternity's ball bearings and rocks worn round and shaped by wavy fingers .. you stand at the shores of your own body feeling the tide rise in your eyes while you observe the lonely coconut which the ocean has brought here from another shore .. maybe cut loose with a sharp machete or chewed into freedom by the dentures of the wind .. there is no tsunami on its way into this island kingdom do these micro-continents know each other's names? you wonder while time becomes a large strange bird across the same ocean which answers its own echo and rolls on with its sleep-walker's heart intact .. your skin desert drinks this all-embracing blue waiting for the night to light its diamonds


of all the hidden treasures on earth muteness and silence are among the most exclusive .. a bird's beak without notes an adam's apple without worms an auricle at the bottom of the ocean .. this is the very germ and seed of a race different from the flowers buried in the black soil .. the subversion of the problem causes a derailing from the historical terrain with an articulation that shatters the border of light .. what witchcraft makes us see unfamiliar landscapes through the words the way you read a face drowned in music or interpret the wrinkles in an aging hand? where has this life gone in all the other teeming colored pictures which the sun releases from its fishing net in order to nail us to the totem pole of now? everything which shoots our shadow on the open street or sets fire to the nocturnal scenery of dreams still there are lungs out there willing to release the rush of life and mingle with your own


think of the distance between two human hands and the night sky dressed in white flowers where only the bird beak of the moon can pick the seeds .. think of the light years of the interplanetary calendar with distances which cause the thought container to topple .. but still the earth harp accepts the fingertips of rain when they hit the strings in the beautiful prelude of silence .. and my hand traces all your beautiful coastlines in order to drown in your gaze or once again retrieve the sun's pulse which drives us on beyond every circumference .. we glide through the blood's net of notes in the very labyrinth of life where our breath oscillates between the soft and the strong .. we can force the light out of the tunnel opening blinding us then turn the rudder in order to run aground on a bleached shoreline .. listen to the wind and our shouts when the sea breaks against the cliffs and the second's own components explode in foam an airy water-net revealing the carnival underneath the make-up .. there is a lushness of lips growing on every rainforest branch and underneath the bark the wind musicians sit practicing their work every string-busted and naked nerve lost in overtones a symbiosis of coral breath at each other's expense .. in the city jungle on the other hand love may be a snakebite not only hitting the eye but with poison spreading in the landscape of the flesh for the human being does not always recognize his own walls nor does he stop in these endless dreamy movements even outside the reach of his gaze and in moral riverbeds .. still everything consists of pictures cut out from the same reality radioactively the sap rises in bark and skin mixed with visions a conglomerate of desire flickered into blood showers and watered flowers everything which sinks and gathers in a puddle around our feet .. does this hand catch up with you before you disappear over the ridge do the leaves cover their ears before they hit the grassy knoll in thunder does an unknown woman live in every man's heart? see life climb higher and higher towards the gull's cry in the mainsail between your oxygen-drunk lungs and the jackal in your own throat the way the ecstasy in the pit of a sweet cherry flowers in the next generation .. with the seed as map reader we will conquer new and unknown fruits still part of a solar system forever fleeing from itself the way every thought is a kingfisher across its own sky


we refuse to pick all those snow flowers stand close together inside the tree in order not to wilt soon the tree breath will also throw itself into the wind's arms and the smoke which filters out through the foliage confirms that the heat will bring the world forward .. when the dream's enigma runs through your fingers you yourself become a door in the forest and close the words behind you


death is without logic and only a circle placed outside another to fix the limit of the glowing mass of our volcanic lives .. every thought has its own egg as a hiding place for shooting stars and breakneck exercises the core of our pointless leaps into survival .. the dark cathedral may easily be transformed into amniotic fluid set free by the moon's quivering fingertips like flotsam towards all our chained enigmas .. in the linguistic search for new paintings the goal is what can save us from point zero while the trough between the waves drowns out all our cries .. life's energy discharge and the planet's rotation are not only remedies against sleep but against the sound of glass ringing in our throat .. in order to have the rainbow drip from our armpits and green sprouts grow out of the lovers' eyes this brief story is lifted onto a broader plane ? see the human being drag a wing across the earthen floor and the army of black shoes which hone the corner of the world back on the wet asphalt lies only a run-over moon


in order to forget the language of love you throw up your fingers into the glass bowl before also draining your weightless head .. soon you are blazed like a tree in the forest and must from now on study and stare at the fish as they knot their own dark nets out there where the stitches may tear in the sun .. for there are still dreams that happen in the dark and disappear instead of cancelling the law of gravity or inventing a landscape you have never seen and where every mountain top exhibits an insidious color which hides the blood hounds hidden in the text .. even in the letters' built-in flowers the pain lives and in the reflexes the ocean returns to the glowing planet .. only in the eyeballs' fresh cheeks may the distance bathe and our gazes stagger towards the upper treeline of experience hunting for the sapphire light which blows out the night .. is the earth really the encapsulated body of a woman with breasts of flying stones and diamonds? we hear our common heart fall from our breathing bridge in the clouds and stare at the moon .. a brass button in the night's black coat


from the top of the moment we look out across nothing it is better to lead an exciting landscape into the poem and freshen it up by adding color .. a deep-red sun still hangs for a little while at the end of the runway where fields of flowers and grain lean down towards the sea at this frozen moment the sky is completely without clothes the enormous flood waters become an eye rolling across the earth that on its wanderings carries with it visible spices .. this is the salt I lick and gather with the tip of my tongue from the silky surface of your taut breasts .. now my ocean also rises washing the endless series of red waves through my lungs while silence swims across your sunburned hands the same silence that slumbers in the bread until you cut it .. soon the moon fingers will look for planetary fallen fruit not only on the mossy forest floor but among the army of grain in the field stiff and lined up like Giacometti's sculptures you lift a flat rock .. a miniature space ship feel the wind sitting there dangling its legs in ancient trees the same wind that with curiosity peeks up your skirt .. here I will plant a wild flower in each of your pores while we cling to each other like in a movie by Fellini .. here as stowaways on board the speck of dust called Earth where you wonder what it is that drives this carefree machinery which once again slowly turns on the light from above in the large dark ballroom not only making your eyes sparkle but also feel the dizziness which accompanies our goals all the way to the top of the silver-plated sky ladder where I can hear the stars and your hand singing


when the storm has subsided behind your temples a mirror-ship heads out of the inner haze its sails filled with words and sentence parts from our own time as thick as anchor chains .. some expressions may keep the rust in check through several centuries before they let go of the water and sink .. only the outlines of your thoughts still remain on the mirror of writing and are carried away by the heaving waves


that one's vision is infinite is an incredibly beautiful illusion but utopias exist in order to make the pictures stretch further that the coloring allows and open new revolving doors .. last night we looked at the moon with fingers sewn together not an evening of great gestures but lit up by reflection .. I ran through your locked room like a horse and ordered the entire ensemble into the circus ring in such delusions things emerge from the pupils to avoid having the inner stairway of the sun disappear in the heat .. soon we run along the well-stocked shelves in the library our fingers clutching the pen before the tableau is extinguished .. now we hear the voices lose themselves in the labyrinth of sound while the world brings us ever closer together .. no great strides across prime meridians and the equator but under silent bells chiming in the inner room the way that love can remember every little wrinkle in the other person's face if one is able to retain it .. or everything transforms itself into a kind of strange hypnosis it does not suddenly appear in order to show its sun virility but to yank all spoken letters up by the root before the snake-crawling fear of parting takes over .. everything may sneak into the text while it is about to lose its overview on the easel of oblivion .. the sand-filled winds which only wreak havoc in the canvas stretcher may like thought be fixed directly to the cave wall the timeless reflection arose however long before the words which also whirl onwards over our erogenous zones without the vagina thereby creating video images on her own cave wall .. the course of history has been brought in to secure the fear of pictures the abstract curve of the paintbrush which worships only colors the way the cave-dwellers of the past fertilized a nocturnal darkness enormous flame-cast silhouettes bent over a steaming carcass while bones and wolf skins breathed in blood steam and sulphur on board a blue earth apple .. cocooned by ozone .. we find each other's arms again and wake up from the vision still the birds of language fly up from quivering guitar strings and stroke our nerves with their colored wingspan we provide shadow for the eyes in order to better observe the flock as it slowly disappears in the flames .. on the opposite side of the fabricated frame of text we see a boat fish in its own mirror image and pull with its net the clouds up from the ocean thus to transform a panorama .. with a blue mouth and an extended tongue of sand you speak to the ocean's dead calm drawing the head's bow and shooting the arrow of thought straight into the poem's heart