Postcard From Kreuzberg.

Teasing out a tune

from a borrowed horn, in a rented room,

in Kreuzberg.

 

I breathe in the perfume

of the afternoon –  I taste bottled beer

and oranges.

 

The shadows rise as the sunlight falls.

The sparrows in the scaffold sing.

In 10962.

 

Two punks sitting on a painted wall – Baruther Strasse cemetery.

They’re reading out the names on the headstones.

It sounds like poetry to me.

 

The bikes slide by like silent film.

The ghosts are singing on the breeze –

‘I don’t want a horse like that.’

 

I spent an hour in a bookshop (former) East Berlin:

I just browsed through the boxes.

I found a postcard in a novel by Graham Greene:

I wrote upon it.

 

I wrote…

The shadows rise as the sunlight falls.

I wrote…

The sparrows in the scaffold sing.

I wrote…

The bikes slide by like silent film.

I wrote…

The ghosts are singing on the breeze.

And I sent it to you.

 

♥