Berlin Is A Bitch

Berlin is a bitch and I am in zir thrall. Fresh mistletoe at the blumen stand hothouse flowers bulbs bursting out of pots, big beer big coffee habit big pretzels big wurst big dogs everywhere the street the bars my friends apartment, big nostalgia big longing big yearning big angst too many girls with skin heads my ex on every corner. Hand shoes and altering my 10euro dirndl from the flea market, when I live here I doppelganger sauerkraut’s grandmother hats with chicken feathers coats furry scarves wrapped up pass-the-Zoo-parcel, your name is Zoo? well you smell better than a zoo laughs flirting dykes more beer more coffee more cheese more jam more rye bread. Red hanky yellow football socks black t-shirt from the leather shop, Deutsch bear pictures from the gay book store, all the chaps boys staring at me from calendars and postcards ads for darkrooms and dungeon hotels, men men men men men everywhere me flagging boots polished eyes down up down cruising subtle not so… successful. Strasse after strasse, traffic coming from the wrong side can’t remember to look left or right just wait for lights or try and cross fingers, keyboards strange too lost my @ sign again and y swapped with z can’t even type my own name without thinking about it. Kalte wind scraps of snow caught up in nooks of trees mind the hund scheisse bicycles on the footpath between scrappy punks in multiple hoodies babies in enormous perambulator incubators tiny stunned sleepy eyes peeking out confused under some seriously serious swaddling. Intoxicated outside her previous residence, lost in translation and past desire, giant salty pretzel from the imbiss where you from? I don’t remember clearly unclearly its been a while somewhere warm where my mother tongue calls me to dinner of snags not wursts somewhere my words rhyme and rhythm somewhere my power supply doesn’t need adapting or my origin explanation.