Two Poems by John Eppel

Berlin

‘Ich war, ich bin, ich werde sein’:
those words are Luxemburg’s, not mine,
but footsteps tapped through death and din
those sewage scents of Stadt Berlin.

Words like footsteps tap-tap tapping,
Birkenstocks go map-map mapping:
Look, there’s Hegel, and look, there’s Brecht,
Look, Landwehr where they dumped Liebknecht.

I was, I am, and I will be,
from cemetery to cemetery.
Wilkommen all to Babylon,
Where you, und du, can call me John.


The Bones Will Speak

The eyes will close, the lips will fold,
The ears will cauliflower.
But the bones, the bones, the bones will speak
For ever and an hour.

The nose will block, the tongue will curl
The taste of figs turn sour.
But the bones, the bones, the bones will speak
For ever and an hour.

The crotch will rust, the nipples flake,
The whole demeanour cower.
But the bones, the bones, the bones will speak
For ever and an hour.

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