Poem: Walking Through Neukölln in the Rain

Walking in the silvery drizzle at midnight, no umbrella
soaked to the skin,
nerves torn open, the city slashed away
by glares diamonds seafoam cathedral spires half-veiled
outcries,the quivering semblances
of people. They pass through me in a heave of mists, dark sultry
shapes floating on rhythms of whispering white echoes.
They pass through me like blackbirds
through a mulberry forest at dusk, carrying with them whistling
air brakes and the throne
of Saturn, a nausea of soaked flowers.

Walking in the silvery drizzle at midnight,
gaslamps hurling halos
of color on wet cobblestones, slender pitches of fog
lifting along the vanishing alleyways,
a quartz clock glowing in a window murmuring Hebrew
psalms and drinking up shadow.

And the people
they pass through me, glancing spirits
like the last refrains of a dissolving
orchestra, their eyes lips hearts kidneys trachea bones
eaten by imaginary
water-maggots and gone up into syllables
of diaphanous cloud.

Walking along in a blur
of whirling color,
past second-hand shops, a Kurdish brothel with shuttered
windows and the front door open,
doom palpitating,
and now the hour comes down.
Merlin tunes his instruments. Enchanted skewers
of bloody
light glitter off the hood of a Ford Capri Turbo. Egyptian cobras
and golden zucchini
sing in the Chamber of Amazia.

And the people they pass through me.

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8 thoughts on “Poem: Walking Through Neukölln in the Rain

  1. How wonderfully moody and alive all at once! You’ve always a fantastic way of juxtaposition that just buzzes the mind and the senses. Just perfect Michael.

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