empty

it is half past nine. joseph beuys is producing a social sculpture. he is an influential artist, born in krefeld. i sit in my room. this day does not exist. the horizon is black and the air is thick. the smokers expand to the street. it is paris 1939. the arcades are closed. the whores kiss the dry morning. fascinating mixture of stockings, lipstick and dust. it is 1986, beuys dies in düsseldorf. the trees in kassel mourn. victory, fame. sun dies in your hands, mother. it is too late. the leaves cover the surface of waters. the night rises to celebrate the newborn emptiness of earth. no trees left to regenerate the time.

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