I was walking through the gates of the Casbah in Tanger, and I told the guy in the tunic, the Moroccan, to take a picture of me, and he did
I sat back on the steps, leaning back towards a building, it was adjacent to the gate entrance, and the camera snapped, the picture taken
And during this simple process many things went through my mind
smells of dustempty boxesthe dead, the surplus
Here is your camera, said the Moroccan (with the long tunic). He extended his hand out (camera in it), but I was immobilized for the moment, couldnt, and wouldnt take it.
A harrowing cry pierced the darkness, I blinked my eyes, and anti-Jews waved their banners
Flight to Denmark, I hadnt been there yet.
The judges had forgotten to read (just sentenced them, one after the other)
The Lion in a Zoo, (The prince is caged).
Take your camera, the man in the tunic said. I tired to speak (and hurry up my mind processing, but it was only ten-secon ds, he could wait, my mind said).
Happiness Bastard
Mad mind Rocket accelerated (why does he look at me like that?)
hell with it.
Oh yeah, I said, meaning I know youre holding the camera, with a smile
515 Madison Ave, come to mind.
Door to heaven? Portal, also.
A Negro driver tells me about $120 apartment (years ago in Frisco)
He thinks Im having withdrawals, I bet. Get up and take the camera, idiot. Casbah smells, dusty, boxes, the dead, I was once in Mexico City; in a coffeehouse someplace in Honduras.
The search for ecstasy is a natural thirst
(I want to) lie around like a lizard.
I bet that guy has a blade of steel under those cloths: robes, tunicwhatever!
Now everyone is acting
HAHA
They look Trojan.
They sound like A Laughing record; talking about mewhy Im slow in taking my camera back (I believe), one by one they disembark, (I say to myselfmy camera is going; he has two friends) .
I dont know, Gods in His Heaven creating Earthwhen He gets down here Hes going to raise Hell. He drops my camera on the ground, doesnt even turn about to look at my expression, but hes walking, talking, saying something.
I smell coffee, but I want a coke, Im at a caf with two Spanish Doctors, a few other folks from a tour in Spain: I snuck away (they followed me) five of my friends from the tour bus, and we navigated over to Tanger.
I think Ill buy the rug, the little one, I said to the owner.
Someone just asked, now sitting down cozy all five of us, asked, as Im drinking my coke, asked:
What are you thinking?
About buying the rug, I say, adding, and a man I met at the gate an hour ago, we only met for a few seconds, but he left a lasting impression, on me.
Poetic Prose #1258 3/2/06
See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Poetry
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