Charly Poem by Pierre Rausch

The Grass moved one moment forth
Everything at all the quiet north
Not these branches on the bush of a hang
If I wanna have shot, big pistols, bang bang

Call a color snap shot of Charly in the late sixties
A wheelchair on the white of a white country
You're here on a three by four photograph
Point to a sentence/repentance were your name is staffed
(Dead or alive the old man invented, the old man suicide)

I'd grieve my love one floor down
To grieve the hewer of the viewer
It's a good monster with fingers, spreading white fingers

Her soul in division from itself
You're mounting, falling, she knows not where
Hiding amidst the loading cargo
Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare

The Grass moves one moment forth
Anything at all the quiet north
Not these branches on the bush of a hang
If I wanna have shot, big pistols, bang bang

No matter what occurred
In what dull house, one minute before
Frequent common order
Stands in brave music
Soon, and night, light