dead drunk dublin and other imaginal spaces
blank image this is the way home poetry - written and spoken stories and creative writings alternative writings, prose, essays, reportage manifestos, insights, alternative views music mp3 original music eyes to see with movies, flash and animations links - click here to read reviews of our favourite websites click to subscribe to our occasional ezine all about dead drunk dublin info on how to contribute to dead drunk dublin


d e s i r e

after wim wenders

:  c h r i s t o p h e r    l o c ke

Berlin is thick with ruin,
and the angel is expected
to be less than a shadow, to stare
down impotent at all their crying
out, their replays in a great
theater of loss. Shaking rain
from his wings, he settles
into a library, everyone sitting,
or standing between the orderly
shelves. He leans close, their thoughts
smashing like waves against desire —
the sorrow of it.
And that's when he notices
her, a woman, the light
of her face glowing above
an open book; the angel sees
what he can not have: the slow
rapture of one heart into another.
She sighs and shifts her head,
and he wants to touch the fortress
of her wanting, the mere breath
of it. He feels his wings
detach, and she turns slightly,
unsure, a weight, (something
like sweetness), at her shoulder.



to contact the editor, email or use our contact form here
all contents copyright © 2007 all rights reserved - redmoonmedia, publishers - authors rights are protected

site design by redmoonmedia