Dear God,
The only thing needed
Was a hole in the head.
Sitting in front of the bathroom mirror,
There were no questions of who or why,
Only how. I wished to show
That the meaning of life
Could not be in the solitude of a skull.
Loophole, porthole, ethereal ventilator —
Call it what you will.
The point was to find the way out,
And do so with style.
To shoulder one's DNA is burden enough.
Oh, gravitiy is the meanest thing.
In order to walk erect
Man had to pay
With blood fatigue and pressing brain.
Sanguine fluids flushed away,
Gray matter enclosed,
He had to learn to think apart.
Once and for all
Consciousness was a restricted area.
It's hardly surprising
We carry such a psychic load.
A hole drilled in the proper place,
Joey claimed,
Through the thin casing of the cranium,
Would decrease the pressure
And give flight to thought anew.
Free as Birdie, unfettered as you,
Who would know to what movement they'd aspire?
Of homo sapiens erectus
A correctus could still be made.
We tested, high on speed,
Time wasn't an issue,
But it did not take long.
After a short while, there was a crack,
A rougher kind of ouverture,
And I had found my window to the world
— An anatomical puncture,
Yes, an expansion
Not unlike what was once termed "soul."
This bubbling aperture,
This crimson nebula,
Is evidence enough, I'd believe,
Of another dimension.
For surely no one can deny
That thoughts are more
Than genetic propaganda?
As you may understand,
Dear God,
It is rather embarrassing
To have to point this out to you,
But the soul,
This weightless little pilgrim,
Is restless,
Oh, how restless
It is.

English translation by Jenny Jochens