Self Portrait

We do first believe when the own body feels how painful the digging and searching is, which takes us in a round empty bottle of the existence, it turn us, skid us and brings us out again like a pile. So go back to the ground or rise up to the sky, pure, clean, same as once created by god.

It’s only the time, which imprison us behind frozen cones.
The cold time which penetrates all bones

I’m standing here,
where a new born child
came through


The Winter time in Germany