He could not be an addict, that he knew.
So much pure selfishness, worn on the skin.
He saw the world as something of a zoo,
the one they built a wall through, in Berlin.
...
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Herbert, what a fascinating tale of Germanic violence, revenge and redemption. The pace of the poem works well to drive the narrative and the personalizing of the aortic device (pacemaker?) as a loving muse is particular appealing. As Jerry would say, I dips me lid. A grand epic of a poem. love Allie xxxx
Epic is the word, indeed. One of your most vivid and finely portrayed pieces, IMHO. t x