“i lost it somewhere– in the storm” he says (on good days)

the victory goddess on top of the Brandenburger Tor from the Reichstag Kuppel

.

his nails, horned claws of a big bird,
rest on a worn bag, dirt
weaves patterns round abRupt mar-
gins, never coincidental, but foreseeably irRegular,
unWinged, the dice fall
alWays somewhere (else), &side

by side, we smell each other,
in the hot and sticky subway air,
dizzied by an angry rattling train
(still something cradle/ing in it)
his hair hiZZes with another streak of air,
flatTers//Sways &scrEEches like grey doves
around his head, wild, whirly flight,
deFenceLess, in a whiFF
from half-closed panes
“where’d you lose your– ?”

an indifferent metal voice announces
the next stop, matter of fact,
(as if we ever could be sure),

“Warschauer Strasse”

the girl’s blond dreads, a thousand nests construction,
empty plastic bottles in her bag
whisper one-more-chanceRe//Cycling melodies,
(like all of us// somedays),
doors slide, she looks never back,
striding for the bins north-east the station,
(direction into which the victory goddess gazes),
small hands scratched from holding
heavy leather straps, (those that connect four horses
to a golden glistening chariot–)
& “go–Go–GO!!” straight, through the city gate,
a half-moon laurel wreath pinned to her dreads,

“we have to change trains at the next stop” hubs says,
“hmmm”
“did you see his tattoos?
not the ink’s the pattern any more,
but his skin”
— and there’s a certain logic in it,
from the rim of night,

smell of bonfire, hooves
hitting hard on concrete, piss & neighing as through thick, uncolored
sheets, an undefined,
somehow familiar yet,

&soothing groove

.

Shanyn is guest hosting dVerse Poetics today and she has us write Cowboy poetry… give it a go & i’ll see you at 3pm EST when the pub doors open (but really, you can’t bring your horse inside…) smiles.. greetings from berlin…having a great time & oh, i’ve seen cops on horses here… pretty cool…