evening walk

a debate enfolds

atmospheric pressure drops

heads ache

ankles swell

‘go for a walk’ she said

‘and i’m due ten euro you know?’

‘well well – i think I should’ he then


‘must go to the bank’

‘oh-you mean you’ve got some in


he’ll say then nothing

an argument now would lead to

a catastrophe.

he’ll take off with a short raincoat

in his mozart-linen bag over his


he finds his rhythmic strides that

feel relieving

in good time he walks five to six

miles and changes his one hundred

note for a change of smaller notes

then he’ll rush up stadtplatz to

have dark chocolate ice cream at


he’ll never could resist its outstanding

taste of Italian origin

after all he’d deserved it

before he sets out back again

past the domicile built with a turret

of Turkish origin

left behind with dark roasted coffee

but the poet is more interested in

the beauty of women

dressed like birch trees in black

and white patterns

in between the face of a teacher

encrusted into the new vernacular

of this country town

a dark-red beech branched out

short tempered woman/

proud tall nordic amazon fir tree

watched over by a weathered

lion face poised with a shield

of his master’s property/

can-can-woman fine feathered

‘ostrich’-tree/ guards along side

spiked bamboo grass

white-green banded camouflage/

blue-crowned crane bird pretty

deluring/ definitely feminine/

mass of roses’ magenta/ flame-red/

light-blue/ lilac/ purple/ while

young models strut the catwalk’s

fashion stage

mini-skirted in dark-pink tutu’s

fitting into between lush-greens

along body guard watched cacti

while a group of giant s

chestnut-bodies of dark boles

created a domain for a young

poetess writing away writing

umbrella of rusty greens and

prickly fruit will fend off anti writer

demons we all know

a whiff of lavender soothes the

wandering poet and his charming


their feathered and laced lilac arms

held up high greets the poet

uphill to the peak called black cross

and down galileo path

views from stretched-out weidling

toward the danube’s viennese

portal/ bisamberg and kahlenberg

where dark clouds gather

lights turn on

the friendly walnut tree winks his

nut-green leaves shaping the

upcoming breeze

ink-filled clouds come closer

every view blurs the rows of vines

their phosphoric green heads

welcome the first drops

the long-awaited cooling down

cornrows of a giant earthy head

with decorations of bird-berries’


the ink blue’s belly bursts

the poetess pen must have

stopped its free flow

the minimalist design of stark

geometrical angles washed over

with new free patterns as nature

paints on free canvases

while the wandering poet heads

back via vivenot path to his

temporary stay to write.




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