Noiseless Mars

Noiseless Mars

armpit June sweat odour
sunny as Cola
biologically perfect
electronica
I taint my gums on Camembert
balcony, admiring the piano lessons
girl – she'll learn on music theory
and won't miss the beat, unlike me
I will never learn more about
guitars,
but hey, we've got noiseless Mars
somewhere gliding along the skies
with the first song I wrote
it'll drive me back
to Cafe Zapata nights
and a small Zehlendorf room
where I learned poetry – admiring
the sculptress that lived outside
her garden glass filled with
resonating men she made
for dates and amusement
with poems her schizophrenic self
threw out of a window
like mantises out of my
Canadian poets' textbook
mine landed softly on strange
poznanian pages, notebook
filled with prayers
chants, short answers
to complicated voice mail questions
like
“how was your day in Berlin?”
Well, how do I know?
I wasn't even
moving.