You got mud on your Face

 

You got mud on your Face 56 x 42 cm acryl on paper by Karin Goeppert

EMPIRE OF THE SENSES

A day of wandering thoughts; the next  

one not a thought per se

but a dream of old Europe 

shot in the supple light of a Zeffirelli romance,

a little kitschy, I admit, but there’s

—don’t ask me why—a baroque

component as well: counterpoint, fetishistic wigs,

a maze of etiquette turning me into a

brocaded moralist: J.S. Bach in the organ loft

while Ludwig the Upteenth

has his way with a slightly damp chamber maid.

But right this instant, half past seven in Kreuzberg,

Berlin, a gang of fiddlers on the side-walk, sounding

like Serbian gypsies out to hustle the al fresco 

fork and knife crowd, those eaters of Italian desserts

who think maybe they’ve achieved happiness

for once and hope it will stick around at least until coffee—

that’s how it’s apportioned, happiness, in mouthfuls and sips,

the weather about to change, and the music

moving indoors, where it belongs anyway,

where we belong, but not always,

nature calling sometimes

even when we need her.