Private Home
Leuk
Some Poetry

ULLI WELLNER

    Cat’s sitting in the corner

  • smoking cigarettes
  • collected on the street,
  • where soldiers,
  • having missed the end of war,
  • are chasing monstrous girls
  • to find relief from pain;
  • to see the light again
  • that is obscured by ugly dwarfs,
  • that like to live in rotten waste
  • in gloomy mood,
  • those creatures of a tortured mind,
  • sneaking out of dreams into reality,
  • drinking whiskey, taking dope
  • and raping each and everyone,
  • until they drop down dead –
  • but stay alive to rise up again,
  • whenever despair calls.  
  • Cat’s sitting in the corner
  • shooting watermelons with a gun
  • collected on the street,
  • where people watch reality explode
  • and spill all over as tiny pieces of flesh
  • eaten up by corny witches,
  • who have killed the dwarfs
  • and taken off their flabby cocks
  • to mash with lizard, fruit and vegetable
  • for a rich and healthy drink
  • prepared for those, who hesitate
  • to fall for hate and greed
  • and all things nice,
  • that you desire in a world of upside down;
  • a world you only may escape
  • by walking though the mirror,
  • facing yourself keep moving on
  • until you know – it’s an illusion.  
  • Cat’s sitting in the corner
  • wearing leather and black lace,
  • asking favors of so many little boys,
  • collected on the street,
  • where passion rules
  • and where reflection
  • is concealed by wants,
  • that long for instant satisfaction.
  • Wizards, casting spells, just to see
  • the people tumbling
  • in the prison of their mind;
  • while in the darkened room
  • the sweat of bodies remains
  • your only orientation,
  • moisture is the spice and
  • and you will feed on
  • vanity and tears and all
  • your fellow kind excretes. 
  • Cat’s sitting in the corner,
  • spluttering out words
  • collected on the street,
  • where in general confusion
  • the ignorant tell of eternal truth
  • and wisdom and pretend
  • to understand the universe.
  • Bashful philosophers -
  • they grab the women’s breasts,
  • while letting happen,
  • that men’s souls are taken over
  • by the might of dark.
  • The future is endangered now;
  • daemons – rejoice and jubilate -
  • your eyes will always penetrate
  • the mist that hides the schemes of real.
  • I ask you, gracious cat, to rise up,
  • to emerge from your corner
  • and to show your sharpened claws again.

Cat’s sitting in the corner