From Fes

My hands are tied,

Bound and gagged, I lie.

If I was born from only hatred

Then I should wish to die.


The music has faded,

Still sweet, though jaded,

Alone in this desert I lie,

Broken, baked and unaided.


Humming faith rattles my heart.

Feet slap on tile, head bent, knees part.

Smoke chokes from copper pots, stoked

And the windless air gathers heavy, anew.


A plethora, suppressed,

Walled in and undressed,

Reclaimed and held high;

Elsewhere you shall invest.


Bite down, watch the feathers that

Flap under sullen glares, voices flat.

I rumble well fed as a humped beast

Bled on a stout little Turkish hat.


My squirming skin bubbles where

Tiny cats clamber and tumble.

I’m drowned a thousand times;

Stained and sun-dried, I’m humble.


Hear me balk as I walk

Through your streets of no name.

I am all of them

And it is here I shall remain.




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