Dreaming of Havana in Berlin

(an angry fragment)

I was chased by the rain

and a dead loves ghost

south of the Vineyard,

out a thousand fathoms

to a bed full of books

and all that wasted flesh made word.

It left me baited breathless

by the traces

of hocus pokus

in the burning ballots

holy smoke.

and sent me dreaming of Havana in Berlin.

Of the past centuries cursed grievance

plucked like the wildflower tooth

my grandfather stared down

full of contempt for his dog body.

But imagine the havoc wrought

by the first guy to figure out fire;

like that first girl

to glimpse her image inside of you,

who was so certain you'd made an exquisite mistake.

So don't give that city you burned a second thought.

Even the smart red fox

chews off its leg

for one more glimpse

of the world's hard beauty

it's only just barely endured