
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
answers
‘must go to the bank’
‘oh-you mean you’ve got some in
there?’
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
shoulders
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
leonardelli’s
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
counterpart
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’
scarlet-red
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.
ink.kni
zoltanzelan
zjg-poetry’20.