A short run

buying used vinyls at Prenzlauer Berg
German rock mostly and drum beats
smoking grass w/ the store owner's
underage daughter
under heavy curtains of her sabbath backyard
enthusiastically fucking
giggling:
the hookah was enormous

experiencing the mort
in Montmartre
drinking with Dalida
Embrasse-moi... and beyond...
like a martyr for all things forgotten
leaving a single tear
on her ghost breast palace
while climbing dead bridges & jumping off
garage roofs near motel

chasing pink-blue boa scarfs
suicidal alchemist's
notebooks obscure
and dada remainders of freedom
at Madrid's crowded impromptu
second hands, markets
whistling at buses & little Latinos

losing my black pens
at Baltic Sea
burning papers, changing skins
finding blue shells just to fill their
sea white noise
with sand-words of mine
never mine
while Calita would sketch me
in pencils
never hers...

how sad
in our hopeless run
for
all things & memories preservation...