Even after 18 years of schooling
I was still not alarmed at how easy it was to be stuck there.
Contrariwise, for a while I was considering to stay even longer,
for a doctoral degree.

„Year after year
running over the same old ground
what have we found?”

Only two decades later did I become fully aware of that
schools are like mould-infested storage boxes
in which good seeds go bad,
living out their lives
numbed, crippled, throttled.

Do not fall asleep in there.
Get out while your spark is still ablaze inside of you,
no matter how scary it might look like outside of the box.

I yearn to hear a—
I made it out alive, I’m back!
„Wish you were here.”
Wish I was here.

In poems
sentences don’t need to be trimmed.
They need to be seeded;
briefly sprouted at most.

I sat down to write a poem,
but not just that, I wanted more, an edu-poem:
part edu-tainment (which in itself is part education, part entertainment),
part poem.

But none of it had rhymes
and despite its 50 lines
it didn’t have a point.

Do I get up earlier
or stay up late
for Billy Collins’ poems?
Sure not.

But whenever I read one of his
I feel inspired to write one of my own,
and that I must say
counts for a muse.

The sky so blue
I join the clouds
rising above
I am the wind.

I get no views
I stand my ground
there are new rules
that’s what I’ve found.

(Inspired by “The blue sky”, Christy Ann Martine)

I choose
what I want when I want,
however much I want,
for how long I want
and even how fast or how slow I want
with
as many breaks as I want
and
what is good »Phaedrus«
and what is not good—
I won’t ask anyone to tell me these things.

Let me find you
in your recliner, relaxed,
or at the start of a nap on your carpet
or slouched on your couch
or in your bed
face up
bottom down.

Let me suggest
to place your right hand on your belly or chest
somewhere fair
where it doesn’t slip away to anywhere,
and you breath
and feel the weight,
and breath
and wait.

Then roll your wrist
where the two bones exist
the ulna at your pinky
and your thumb I think he
is at the side of your radius.
Them rolling
on your belly
slowly
your elbow, the point for your wrist
to start its swivel and twist.

When your hand rolls over its outside edge
over your pinky finger
on your belly
your fingers curl more
if they may
and the tip of your thumb approaches
the tip of your index finger
while they both swing up
and linger.
Feel it
sense it,
check it,
am I right
or not?

Then pilot your wrist down further
to the right
over the bony landmark on your ilium
to your right side
drag and drop and slide
with your soft hand at its end
and further
until your arm stops and rests,
extended way out to the right
the base of your thumb facing the ceiling
what a nice, relaxed feeling,
and your fingers sorted, curled up,
warm and light.

And then,
silence.

And some time later
devine procrastinator
roll them again, like rolling a train,
return them up onto your belly again.
Not everything rhymes,
but everything chimes
together and your wrist may roll
and slide.
You may breath
and sigh
and rest.
If you allow yourself
to be your guest.
Your arms and elbows and
head and chest
and neck and shoulders
and all the rest
all of them
may snooze,
for this delightful moment
if that’s what you choose.