The far depths of the wind,
again and again,
destroy the furniture in your houses.
One vase after another.
You were so wrong
to decorate your place with flowers.
How stupid you are, my fellow,
following the desires of others,
lost like a wandering tyre
on the asphalt
after some random car explodes.
So lonely,
heading towards the moon.
How you swear to the European virgins
that you can hang the stars from trees,
that you can move them carefully,
like pick-up sticks,
along a Hungarian slope.
Dear Father,
I reward you.
Thank you for giving birth.
We will qualify him or her at school.
We will fatten him or her like cattle.
We will prepare him or her
to hate Arabs.
I avoid touching
my elephant-infected leg
with the one that remains intact.
If you make me choose
between Mecca and Munich,
I will float upon the Isar,
my fingers lodged
in the holes between the rocks.
Do not judge our identities
by looking at our passports.
Did you even choose
your fucking name?
The knife of Arthur
is no longer recognised.
Dear Wolf,
the snowflakes are beginning to ring.
So please, do not howl.
Let the prisoners of their houses
remain before their screens,
scrolling pictures down and down.
How the anxious among us
have discovered a new religion
in the language of energy.
Positivity.
Negativity.
Love.
Reading glasses
to magnify every last detail.
Years of fire pass,
and there is no excuse.
Give me a physical energy
between my hands,
if you can even touch it.
Draw a circle on a line
and they will praise you in museums.
Wear a leather jacket
that reveals your nipples.
Contemporary.
New fashion.
Such a dangerous content warning.
Hey, Father.
Your son is a teenager now.
Tomorrow, at the school party,
he will recite a poem.
You are invited.