The receptionist stopped me and yelled
"What kind of lifestyle d´you live?
Because I saw all those situations
Hung up in your closet,
Stained with bruises and sweat.
Do you really think,
when you go out of the door?"
I dashed into the metal cube with a couple
Of abnormal beauty. As the floor beneath
Our feet began to lift,
They exchanged their files
And lit every button. I stumbled out
At the first stop, opened 4-3-7
And burst into a scene of passion
In my room she is sulking again, loafing
In that armchair of death
The walls keep sailing
(their way west)
the room expands
into a bugcathedral
filled with echoes
and a glimmer of comfort
Bugcathedral
Max Bergmann lives in a tiny village in Germany and he tries to turn his boredom into something positive, poems.