Portrait of the Young Girl as an Artist

Not all limbs have erections Sometimes even you have to decide Which is up And which is down Which travels and which is stationary Which travels to stations, and which travels aimlessly And whether desire can perhaps best be described As a train running into a tunnel Take your platform hands and run! I said run Between train track: thighs Not all limbs have erections Sometimes even you have to decide Which is up And which is down Which travels and which is stationary Which travels to stations, and which travels aimlessly And whether desire can perhaps best be described As a train running into a tunnel Take your platform hands and run! I said Isn’t monotonous, isn’t it monochromous? But there’s a light! Do you see it? It shines from the hole through your hand And how did I get here? To the hand! I say: the body is one-way street And the bodies, like your fingers, bend only inwards Not all limbs have erections Some curl inwards And some have braces! Those train track braces! Embraces!