Sociale – Berlin, Gubenerstraße
is not lyricism. It is heavyweight Operatics.
Posthum to entertaining phantoms
of hospitals, parks, cities and of blessed trams,
I descend from the apartment to the openness
where M. after days of avoidance, says,
“Oh, you want to obtain a little friendliness!”
Within convex shades, he has himself booby-trapped.
Mist and fumes, speeding around,
engulfing LVT´s glittering bust in the park
where I desire to lie down with a stone on my chest
to guard me against the sweeping wind.
And you want to kill yourself prematurely !
Why the hurry? The killing will occur;
your head will be thundered away – a purple cloud.
If after strolling from café to café,
you find a bit of you left over in messages,
mine out that rest for the one-eyed girl,
peanut-coloured, unexpectedly voluptuous
like the hour prior to sunrise.
am Ufer – Berlin, Kreuzberg
You move from bench to bench
at provincial parks seeking refuge
in the umbrage of creeping shadows,
left over by great eaters who exchanged fire,
then slept hugging one another.
LVT ! I can not move the crowd
or bring people to their senses,
but I have rescued a wasp
from drowning in a Coca-Cola glass.
In Kreuzberg, benches are occupied,
but no one is waiting for news from the road.
I only hope ambulant saleswomen
will inhabit all your fingers with rings,
and you cease to be the idea about yourself.
Tiziano – Berlin, Ostbahnhof
passage of thriving orange, yellow and pastel green
is truer than ambiguous dreams of the colour-addicted mind.
This space, swinging up and fragmenting,
returns with the early bird, healthy and glued together.
Here, LVT is a kiss of reddish hue,
the comeback face swaying towards me
from its faraway winter.
San José, Monday, August 16, 2004