Bronson Berlin.

dr. lecter, I could never
forget ya—
mornings to hell, a neatly timed
route, right down to the nail,
years later on trains from Leipzig
passing eagles; crocodrillo turbo,
lamb over rice, like ripe limes over 

mr. wonderful, when things
broken broke days, in an ornate 
kreuzkölln haze, far and good
only for dolphins, sun sweltering
high, shredder’ll make me cry,
happy, modal memories, in my old