In the square outside Freiheit street number sixteen,
in the world above U-Bahn commuters, there meet
the Schachspielers.
Read More
“Clutched tightly by his adoring father, the fair-haired blue-eyed toddler was the picture of innocence”
Choices driven by hate, or driven by ignorance, choices are made.
Read More
I.
Tussocks:
the moor’s repine, fields wide,
these sinewy growths
are cairns or markers,
but of what?
The tree stands, alone
Naked in the dark
The courtyard is silent now
Lies of past glory whisper through the branches
- which are breaking -
Read More
These hands are not his hands,
they are my hands.
But sometimes in my mind they are his hands,
and other times they are not hands at all,
they are claws.
Read More