I. Skyline of Berlin

Plane from Munich to the
Skyline of Berlin
Zehlendorf, Dahlem, Steglitz,
now we sink
smoothly down town.

I’m on my way to Norway
but once down on the ground
of Berlin I want to stay.

I know-love you so well,
not just Kreuzberg

I grew up in the West
intra muros, I drank
wine on Wannsee beach
with my first love and
now I miss you so.

My Wilmersdorf love affair!
Where did you go, you
vanished in the haze of the past
and nostalgia hurts so good.

I have the glimmering of a hastily smoked
cigarette for my memories.
No more. I’m Oslo-bound.
I look around to maybe …
uh, nonsense. You cannot be there.

The sun reflects through the window glass,
dipping everything in copper color.
I try to rearrange my senses:
I have no suitcase left at Berlin.
Kein Koffer.

And I will go North now
new adventures ahead
shedding a last tear before
I board.

II. Oslo Landing

August afternoon,
Berlin was sunny, in the upper 60ies,
crossing the sea, clouds of
drab and grey hit the plane.
Oslo is rainy.

We drive out of the drizzle,
heading westward on slow highways.
I see no ren yet but we’re
alonylonely here in the green
covering the gneissic rocks

„And beer you think is also
expensive,“ she asks. „Yes!“
„Glad, we brought our own,“

She is a Miami redhead
I met at a clinic, pretty and pretty
sarcastic whenever she can.

So she drives on, slopes up,
slopes down, while I smoke and study
the language: bokmal.
Riksmal, whatever.

No cranky tone salad as in Danish.
I fall asleep while she drives on.
Abrupt stop at Lillehammer.
„we, „ she tells my sleepy face,
„rest now“. Its icy outside, she
dances ahead of me with a vodka
bottle. „You think, you think,“ she sings,
„What, damn?“ – „they have lemons?“

No, the mini bar had grape fruit juice though.
So we watch Swedish television
in the Norwegian wilderness and drink.

I feel like a monstrous elk
mounting her tonight.
Well, she smiles. I ignore
that of course. The booze
is not for nothing.

We are sated and relax.,
spread nude over bed and couch,
watching Schindler’s List
in I don’t know, maybe Finnish?
I’ve given up to read the tiny
English subtitles running
over the screen.

We sleep in Olympic satin.

III And we rise sweetly in the blue morning

It is almost eleven, I yawn, she poops.
„Damn. Do we have to pay for another day now?
I call reception „All good, let’s shower now!“

„Is this fish?“ „Elk, I think, „ I say.
Then we are on this road again.
I drive this time and she makes nonsense.

„You need a dance out?“ – „ hm, or a fuck-out!“
As I said: Only nonsense in that pretty blonde head.

I laugh so hard I must stop the car.
„What?“, she. „Get the fuck out!“
I yell and we loose another hour.
And the heather smells sweet and tangy.

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