by Josh Wilson
In the cold city full of light and joy, littered with political architecture, low, massive, impenetrable, abandoned, fallow, burned and rebuilt.
Wurst in the train station where I Bought postcards they were all of the Fire of 1939 and of the Wall The ruins of which I stood upon Oh times change
The (young) clerk threw in some touristic scenes — glass new buildings, smiling families, because he didn’t want me to only bring home those ancient memories when he lived in such a new city.
Near-enough by About two hours by train the Only thing they put in the Furnace were lumps of coal Dense dull-sheened shards Thick with fossil memory
It was cold, that time of year, and the captain of the local American-rules football team sold us an ounce of leafy weak grass.
We brought some into the city Rolled joints and wandered Around the Bundestag And the Brandenburg Gate Smoking Avoiding politzi Thinking about fire
Berlin and Magdeburg, November 2006