


tobias m. schiel







I am the man on stage slurring your favourite songs.
Making up a few of the words as I go along.
Taking the edge off of me
Is a necessity when I’m singing these words that I no longer mean.
I am not a poet, I’m a broken heart
And though you didn’t dispute it, I don’t really play the part.
I am not dishonest, I’m a lost detail
Leaving out the good words to hide my trail.


A contribution for Jo’s Monday Walks, this post completements the morning walk I shared earlier this fall.
“Saget, Steine, mir an, o sprecht, ihr hohen Paläste!
Straßen, redet ein Wort! Genius, regst du dich nicht?”
J. W. Goethe, Römische Elegien, 1
While the poet begs Rome’s walls to talk to him, the walls in the streets of Arles sported many messages, some of them obstructed by noise – ripped off, painted over, gone enigmatic. I was fascinated by the layers, by the idea that someone left a trace, only to be obstructed after a while…