I rest awhile
Wondering
Where my pen might take me
From the imagined streets
Of Berlin
To that bridge over the river
After several strong shots
Of whisky
In the American’s bar
Such a long kiss
The sort of embrace
Which opened all imaginations
And it was me
I was my own co-conspirator
Narrator, and cause celeb
It was I
Spinning and weaving
In the depths of a writer’s double life
