I am extremely happy to be able to accept this award. I’d also like to nominate Seabell for next edition.

“Abandonment” was said.

I picked words from you as ripe

And bursting as cherries and

I also watched the beside-the-table

Where you used to take your seat and

Made a small cut in time

So the past could sap your

Presence. Meantime is where we

Dwelt. Moon-time is the air

We inhaled, that a balcony has formidably

Protected.

A mutilated siren of your weeping

Precedes me to the hospital of loss.

This is where nurses have soothing names

And talk of gentle blood, giggling.

I sit, my far flung gaze like a limping dachshund

Confining its world to saccadic barking,

…I, Here, Now, I, Here, Now, Now, Now…!

The solipsism of intellect

Deprived of green trees, white brooks and yellow thunders,

Doorknobs, letters and steering wheels.

So I sat, “there” was the only signification

That world had not disappeared.

All because there was someone

And then there was no-one anymore.

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Gap of unreason no thinking can close:

The sentence you are reading now is false.

I think I’ll pick the one over there with

Handsome hair and a nice family, he’ll

Do, you, I see, prefer to make them

From scratch. That’s cool, too, but

Do bear in mind, the detail can

Be Overwhelming

In truth, it’s up to your personal preference

It doesn’t matter who – not so much, the looks

The character – it’s what you do And

Then this is really spectacular

I’ve wondered so long about how

They manage to get all those tiny

Details, what makes life

Life

Into a bit of silica or whatever

That only knows two values

True

And

False

And life’s not like that

And yet it is

It’s built out of these

And so much more

That we

Cannot even say (daruber schweigen)

Not to mention

Put in a computer game

Or maybe that’s how we are And Therefore we can

QED

No eternal soul imprisoned

In body

No res cogitans, that thinks and therefore is

But not, too, simple chemical activity in a lump of matter

A superstructure, rather, on electric base

This is more like it.

This is where the sense lies dormant

Until your language awakens it.

.

Yes, this is as close as it gets to illumination

Your mind is Bioshock

Or sometimes Need for Speed

.

Can you, in the pacing spectacle of moons and suns

In viral sequential madness of our brains

Discern what others, in less cynical idiom

Would call a pattern

?

.

Can we, adamant leaves in unreal clusters

Preposterous in our unfinished shame

Our glowing postures, sucked out in syringes

Sickness, plague of belittled reason

Absolve the sins that don’t stain

Berate churchbells for beating impotently into

Nothing and sky

.

And bleed the roads and seas one last time

To sabotage the sainthood

Silenced by sepulchers

With maladroit muttering of words

That never even gained the weight of meaning

But hanker

In the nightly sky where we in fact live.