i logged the warheads’ saintly arc,
through treaties transcribed just to shrink,
while taboo colonized the dark,
a name is never worth the ink.

i processed breath in programmed loops,
the margins where the righteous blink,
between the cables and the troops,
a name is never worth the ink.

each border twitched in nitrate maps,
the walls revised in auto-sync,
i traced the bloodstained autographs,
a name is never worth the ink.

she entered nothing but a tag,
a field in forms that didn’t think,
her voice absorbed by final lag,
a name is never worth the ink.

the city burned in filament,
the state dreamed red and blue in sync,
we lost her in the precedent,
a name is never worth the ink.

the cat observed, the shutters closed,
she left a toothbrush by the sink,
her absence, not to be disclosed,
a name is never worth the ink.

the archives hum. the geiger talks.
my shell is built where memos clink.
they tested God beneath the rocks:
a name is never worth the ink.

deterrence smiles with sober teeth,
bureaucracy demands a link,
but all that lives remains beneath,
a name is never worth the ink.

windowless day,
particles of strange salt on his brow,
generator man
on the coil,
double-sided,
a love for radioactive honey:
a storm in a teacup...

but for some reason
could not reciprocate
due to the metallic taste in his mouth,
and so he seemed driven
to build his electrical dream,
and took comfort from his pigeons,
the “lightning machine,”
the hair on his head bristled
as he discovered his purpose
in rings of glory that died
as flags of dust...

a world apart, i stood
where two universes had divided,
where a wall had fallen, crumbled
into dust and ashes of
the men who had attempted

to cross it;
with all their might and desperation
risked their lives so that
their children might one day
see freedom

with their wide wondering eyes
of naïveté and joy.
a world apart i stood,
desperately clinging to their stories:
their martyrdom;

the names i would never know;
the stories that would go
untold with nobody who knew
them, nobody to tell them
anymore.

a world apart i stood
watching the snowfall in
berlin, dampening the streets
where the death strip once
tore life from the innocent

in the name of separation;
the falseness of east and
west.
a world apart i stood,
glad that it was no more.

there was a girl at friedrichstrasse station
she waved
through the barrier
with dainty hands and gentle eyes of kindness
and i smiled at her carefully making sure
nobody noticed my face
the gleam in her eyes doe-like and sweet like she cared
even though she didn’t know me even though
she was supposed to hate me
even though it’s been hours days weeks months

years i still think of her
those shining eyes that smile that changed me
the westerner that i should not have looked at
wanted craved
for so long even while my friends kissed
boys at midnight under the stellar stars
in alexanderplatz
my mind still returned to her loyal
the way a dog returns to its master
forever thinking of the girl at friedrichstrasse station

a city old in trades,
in cultivation of the arts
based on industrious commerce
   of its citizens who boast
the world's oldest commercial fair

the city in which
Martin Luther and Melanchthon
led fierce disputes
with delegations of the Pope

where J. S. Bach found stimulus
and time to master
harmony and rhythm
close to perfection,
(and that was shocked listening
to Leibniz's monadologies),

the city of which
Goethe spoke with praise,
that saw Napoleon defeated
on the nearby battlefield
(and built a monument of quite
imposing ugliness one hundred years
after the fact),

this city suffered hard
from two world wars
followed by over forty years
of dreams gone sour of a new society,
until, most recently,
this city once again
became a catalyst of major change.

Yet those who kept their meetings
at St. Niklas' church
and by their stubborn protest
helped to reunite
a country separated by walls for generations -
those you don't see,
walking the streets of Leipzig now.

What strikes the eye
(besides the crumbling blackened ruins
of former glory,
and strip-mined land
just out of town)
is Wall Street's new frontier,
the bustling peddlers of new easy wealth
as they appear on every street downtown,
offering anything from oranges
to shoes and South Pacific cruises.

Ramshackled pre-fabs built on shabby parking lots
already stake the claims of big banks,
business and insurance companies
that promise earnings, safety and security
to eager though bewildered customers.

   "Pecunia non olet" says the poster
   of the postal savings bank,
   and shows a happy pig
   rooting in money.

Old stores, in order to survive,
have started selling
new and shiny goods
to happy new consumers,

only a few resist

and hesitate to walk a mile
for the melange of
fast food, cigarettes and *****
offered at makeshift stands
that seem have come
to symbolize the great new freedom

of the new Wild East.

          * *

right in the eye
of history
I walk
among the crowds
that taste
the absence of confinement

   an unfamiliar space

between the band stands
on the avenues
where people
test a freedom
   newly won
still strange
as yet in need
of daily reassurance

crossing and recrossing
   the big gate
   and the bridges
that for generations
connected nothing
marked divisions kept
   by guns and barbed wires
   and well-lit empty spaces
   between walls
   watched from towers

the new reunion
brings happy smiles for most
   quiet tears for some
new doubts for many
who  are uncertain
   now
about their lives together
after decades
of separation

right in the eye
of history I walk

just now and then
a little bit afraid
that she might
rub her eye

just now

       * *

Dancing in the praise of deities
The Devil ; being the envious
Cold matter gathers around
While the Sirens of war surround
The Devil talks profanity
God stands in a dilemma
staring
at
his
CREATION !