Joanna Ellmann Underwater
The Spiral City You swam above the water above the swamp the abyss above. All your dead and wars are sending you. The city From the beginning of the times
 you are transparent. Virtual gateway between being and nothingness. . Half-true truth. I dive to your bog to find myself. You. I hear. You already are talking with me. The city In the dark of solitude water-rats are catching your pigeons. On whom you will lie if the voices from the roofs are lost. The city Solitary island you are you underwater creature Everything that is present, is an imagination. Under your asphalt is your real state. The river that took so much frees you And every time the rain falls
you get cleaner again. The city Into towers, not to the water you are drowned because you are a water. You are under yourself and above. The idea of a moor about something which does not exist. The city Along of the time-axis and forgetfulness i am falling. Fall into your swamp, rising again on the surface like hundreds who have been buried into your waters. They are still hovering over you. Hovering in you. You beautiful creature You gloomy creature. Who has fallen down to you will never be free again. Heat of the bog does not let them go. Each leaving pulls them more and more back to you. Imaginations. Moving dreams. The burial place of lonely people you are. And at the same time, sometimes you arouse alive. The city Luck is in you when to pass from the death and deads, hunger and wars. The city
You know,
 your happiness can kill The beauty of poverty and the poors is deadly. Blind woman with a blind dog street musicians microphones right next. That's the blinds Joy Listen to chiral songs. Poverty unites them with street musicians.
The city You unite them. The city You spiral creature. Flutter inside 
 your own whirlpool. Up and down still up and down. You let to choose inside you to go up or down. Everything that stays in your midst is wrong. I walk Stay on the move and look at you with closed eyes, open glance. Even your waterspouts
are poetry as they are bridges between an upper and a lower you. Being more real than all other what's left to the middle of you. I float under water like you. I float under myself and above like you. I catch your dead to eyelashes. Once I slipped down from you. I saw a time when the water was all around you your eyes were bog-coloured, sad. Your hair reached to heaven. Once I discovered a giant goblet inside you full of foaming wine. Frogs swayed in it, it skin was Croube. It was a fountain in you. The frogs swayed there cats were catching them. I catched them too, with my mouth but to drown them into the river. The sea Will save everything that is closed in you. It seems like that. Silently, multifaceted like a tree, you flow inside your own river to the sea. To become one with it. As the tree brunches are rising to heaven Like the placenta grows human so you flow from one beginning from different ways to the great open sea. Big tree you are
and the cell cluster. All at the same time. Everything and nothing at the same time inside you. Your delta is holding on something else more of the departed – the home of which, however, someday maybe could be free. Maybe at least someone will be. And the one who is released Will fill with himself with you, the whole world. Just like the tree fills the sky, like a human who really is true. The end of all roads is in you. Therefore, this endless sadness, therefore, the excesses of the haze shores, that's why you're on your own shore, and abyss. That's why, death always hunts you he's always in you and is you. But still: The sea Gulls fly to the ships. At far is freedom. That sounds like that. The mirage is this, nothing else. Gulls always come back. The ships cant be never truly free of you.
Wideness before you end. It seems like this. You will never end anymore. You have ended already To carry forever a memory of yourself. The city At the peripheral areas of your water surfance sunken submarines are watching you Breathing in the air-mixture of rain and bog. They are graves to your team. Their gut is dead. And at the same time
 they are breathing their team in. So is their circle similar to you.
The city You grow and decay yourself at the same time. All in you stays at the same time. Your wars are still here. You are living side by side With dead poets, fighting soldiers. The lady drinks morning coffee at terrace, bullets are flying over her head. She does not notice them. Cause her eyes arent open to them.
However. They're right here. Still, still they are. The city At the same time you are cunning and cundid You give to everyone who has fallen in you freedom and at the same time you will take it. The city When i come in you, I grow long fins in order to swim along a time-abyss, in fogflows, to where you are buried. In order to be here, despite the death. The city You canny creature. Why are obelisks in you if anyway you cannot be controlled. You borderline creature. Sadder and freer you are than the other yourkind of places. Freedom and loops you are. Imprisonment in you is cosmos. Freedom in you is bigger yet. Obelisks in you drown in you. Because you create about them and into them always
something new. Sizzles in the air and rain. Fires and saint. A golden, poor woman. She seems to be standing still in uniform with lowered head Hunger is reflected from the water to your golden domes. Gold is death. Blood on every Golden leaf of yours Self-determination of emptyness. Your bridges fall down Water waves. Statues are constantly galloping on. You are creating freedom through death. The city Far away on your edge Shacks are missing. windows with bars 
 tall towers are increasing. They are not glory. But when the stars shine on them your richness looks out looks out of their windows
The city In the mirrors of your peripheral spots, is plentitude.
Street lights are gone. They do not burn here. In the mirrors of your peripheral spots, is plentitude. Far away from here It comes It does not prove nothing to anyone. It does not need to. It has its spirit. There is your wealth where are towers of your poors are reaching to the wide outer space. The city Your smell spans over the fields. No one who haver been in you
 cannot escape from it Your bog-sweet dust stays to the clothes remains on the hair. Sinks through the clothes, through the skin until it is filling, who has been in you all cracks, all cells, circulatory, until blood in his body is your river.
The city Your smell will never go away. It is felt in far countries, at bus stops, at the sandy beaches, at the top of the trees, because everyone, who have been in you will wear it. If breathe with attention, everyone can feel it. You go away. The piece remains to you from everyone who have ever been in you.
The city You crafty creature. Why you do not ever let anyone free why you grab all to yourself so strongly that everyone who has been in you in some form must come back. Even after death floating in you Your sunrises, spring dusty in the street, broken windows also those are mirage. Your sunsets are fading into traffic. The city So beautiful you are and dangerous. Under the parks are the dead. The city Your underground trains are scary. The city Your subways are still scented by the way as the dead. At their walls are still the shadows of the dead. Each train is accompanied by dead. The city Raise your trains, however up, on bridges.
So the deads in them could at least 
 see the sun.
Rotate around yourself turn around to become who you really are. Then your trains are up high. But no. The shadows of the dead arms are still on the walls. If you listen carefully, you hear – the stream brings noise from the past to here. This noise is always there at your underground roads. Explosions. Falling sand. The city Remember. I said, I raised fins to myself for dive into you So I still dive. Emptiness fills your cracks, when the cars are silent on the street and horse carriers has disappeared somewhere. This day will come when your hair will grow back. Your eyes are green lakes
and no more bogcolored,
 but really grass-green. I'm riding along the waterfall in a small skiff down from you, still down you are water i am water I'm sailing in you. The city I know you do not have bones, you are the city. But if you would have they would be a fragile giant bird bones. Fragile you are but gallant. I sail down along you. Fish are clinging to my boat. Hundreds, thousands of fish, look at me with their nostrils eyes and mellow mouths. Only seaweed around me and my hair has become to Seaweed. I feel how tail is starting to grow to me. The city That's what you do you create mirages. In your muddy riverbed I still find treasure chests. Old and rusty coffins But full of gold and jewels. I will not take any of them. Some of your coffins are made of mirrors. Many of your thoughts
are stuck in them. I will not take them either. And i do not help too. I'm not here for this. I only have water above me and i sence that even clouds from heaven are sad down. I'll go ahead along with your dark roads. I hear music from far away. Someone is playing guitar, his dark hair flies. I know him and wave. He craves we smoke but cigars does not burn. The fog is penetrated
 to our gills. Until we turn into him. As a shadow i sail in you. Just like you are carrying memory of yourself So now I'm wearing mine, Sailing in you, carrying memory of my own existence In order to grow new. The city Your old teahouses are calling me. I do not remember anymore how many lives back I lived in them. I spent days and nights nearby. The ladies wore
 beautiful dresses and hats, I always smoked pipe,
restlessly. Their ruins are still somewhere here. So as my bones floating above me when i row along you. Still down and down. My previous bones above me. My previous bones above me. Ripples Asphalt breaks down i hear somewhere in above me asphalt cracks the grass stretches
 out again. The city You are forests and glades. Perhaps a lonely woodhouse to comfort the traveller The fishermen are catching goldfish from your lakes. It's winter Your lakes reflect you on your ice surface straight into the wides. And the stars, what glare against illuminate so through your hundreds of lakes the whole land.
So they are eyes, which probably never do not close Time is starting to reverse. Or not. However, you still stand here. You are the same like always. It's only from somewhere to feel how next to the current moment There is something old, very old, what is stretching out itself, rise its head. Moment what has been forgotten. Moment what has been gone for a long, long time. And then, suddenly, your ground sinks. You bog. You sink and sink. You island Into water and rise from there. there is a fog above you. You grow wild rosemary. Ripples Visions. I still sail but lie and i feel how with you i sink too. Still down and down and down and at the same time fog raises up and up. With eyes opened Im looking how you rise
When you fall The smell of your coal mines
 from a long time ago comes here. I do not know if it's a bogwater or something else, which reminds this I sense the scent of the lost children The scent of war. The scent of your hundreds of bridges. I see how ceplines are flying over you. And the trolleys are clouds for you. Once the day comes when they evaporate. Then you will become the city of crystals. Each building is oval, purple crystal above the forests. And diamonds are windows for them. Then you are really gallant. Real abundance inside you. every your house then is a gift from the earth. This poor golden woman takes off the uniform, Stays over you in a white, snow white dress, with transparent face which radiates freedom. No longer she does not stand with lowered head, she is proud and upright. Inside her is your freedom. No fire will destroy your crystals when they have came to you. When they have become
homes to your children No fire, no war or disease do not condemn your residents. But now My hair 
 became briches, willows to my eyes. So I vision myself to your simplicity. One day, probably in autumn I scatter with you far, away. Evaporate above you. I'm staying in you and with you. We are one and the same water We flow, we flow infinitely long so long, that we do not 
 notice time. This way we once open doors to the new world.