moments turning


in monbijou park young rulers carry machetes
they adore the vertical horizontal
they snatch the laughter of children
there is no turning away from the ventriloquists
while the whirlies dawdle along


on the 30th of july
a chinese woman from spandau
crossed my way to Asia Mekong
i accompanied her while the skies hung deep
a wry pleasure on her side to make conversation
she was very good at it
a real neighbor leaping forward
she said: my girlfriend suggested to take a tour
through “mitte”
i love the spandau citadel, i said
she did not know it
when we turned the rusty corner of
covid free base tent on the market place
she wanted to hug me
i said: merci, but i’ d rather not


on 1st of august the lord of the flies
died of a heart attack
& i thought of the All Seasons
the kill, the stage of children
that pay less
one thousand people under the sky
here, in rose street
to hump an old pin ball machine, oh lyricism



on the 3rd of august
three tour buses stopped at the lobster event hotel
plenty of grey birds’ fanning at the entrance
a lifetime equivalent of 3 trips to the moon
a zoom call beneath the ice of time
a rolling among trusses
4 hours later
Buddy barked at the “moon”
cause of Frida the scent hound, the beagle
the indian owners offered me 2 coronas
too many carrots for a bald eagle



on the 8 th of august the sphere players left
to join the stygian red ribbon spree
the sea of fire high streaming low
a mere miscellaneous floor show
like a wordnik page effed
they wore the old rabbit to the cleft
to rescue red shoes’ dancing mania
epilepsia saltatoria
i greet the “chorisant”
or shall i say corybants?



today i saw a beautiful boy
wearing big eyes
a mantera & russian green taffeta pants
what a prance
finely drawn whiskers
left & right from the philtrum

on this day
the crowd watched
Extinction Rebellion
chasing the spark

my goodness, monbijou park

—Martina Gertrude Siebert