palace of winds

I haven’t posted anything in a while, and I really don’t have anything to say at the moment, so I’ll give you the old creative writing cop-out.

Berlin

The lion lying in the
Pergamon, stone-faced and
sleeping in this split city
does not dream of
east/west
nor think of knitting scars,
cranes,
construction,
but recalls the sun and
the fierceness and having
his knuckles where daisies are carved
bathed in blood and milk.
He is a stolen deity
and their now-native god
Guilt
is (here) so much bigger,
fat and feasting,
that the lion closes his eyes against them
and dreams by the broken blue promenade
of Babylon.