cheyenne ' s scraps

between S. and C. 
a beautiful muteness with no events 
i see these red-white-red without events 

lead me up
towards the mountains
southern extremities

transcribed to paper; again and again
as the fallen trees
in search of his own

singing of the chaffinches
again and again
infested with bark

in the tree shadows
author leads
in the middle of this concert

important for me
aware of them
I’ve always been that

a beautiful
with no events
rather narrate
a river, or snow
I say ‘start’

when I ... does this interest you?
I see these red-white-red
without these events

Indian Summer
without conflict
I don’t know

through your fingers
formulating ‘I’
ends in failure

develop that
sometimes pleased
Imagine that
(time for your sleep )

space prohibited
imagine that
(yes, i will sleep)

dialogue, this was 2between two C.’s 
I’ve turned out of myself 

breakdown becomes fruitful
but to just note down what has been thought
of the formless vortex
My experience has always begun somewhere else
form materializes
I am having a hard time comprehending
has a sense
for example, Herr Gamper
Just sitting down at my desk
I just open a book
finds its place
provides a prototype
a precise description


justice to the sun
I’m having a hard time comprehending.
Second World War
the color of the paper
that naturally sounds very pithy
Long before sunrise
First you spoke
plunged into another sun
so pithy about it
in my conception
that hadn't even been recognized
another sun

That's when...
The pages, the letters
... sure, whether it should is a whole other question

 belongs only to me
It apparently addressed the demands
the prospect of describing
like how Brecht puts it: whoever describes 
a factory wall has understood nothing of the factory.

even when no sun is shining
that's a personal matter
I’ll insist
I'm really not sure
I’ve turned out of myself
I don't know if my reading begins from usefulness
and with that you ... you need ...
eyes and ears, when ... when ... when ... when the sentences are directed by the sun
even when no sun is shining

where should we begin?

Dialogue with S., a favourite friend. 

dreams of which
we have been alone dictated

become more and more parts of one
your Notes
where should we begin?

begin with beginnings
mysterious ways
beginnings in this art

listening to other voices
you dream lines
but I have also invented dreams

I found them
listening to other voices
as if words could be owned

I once stole regularly
take them as a field
half forgotten return

That fact alone
I have dreamed
a fairly early poem of mine

Today I received an email
with some apparent fluency
so inundated with dream

far from my mind
form of memory
into a poem and an alternative life

back where
I remember being astonished
of which I now remember nothing