Voyage Atlas​

Chefchaouen at dusk
Africa pink solitude, lavender like Paris in the snow
does he remember his birth high in the Atlas with silver bracelets
but no chains? the centre of freedom
being bevelled


Voyage in Vein

The village café is closed today so I stay in
a bag of candy and nails, band-aids, healing hands
I am too tired to read the ceiling and my father’s voice sounds
like where I will be – admiring my weakness
there is no such thing but one day
I will know this is ending in
good blood


Voyages with the Master (for J.K.)

The devil does not play with me (I do not drink vodka) (didn’t you have too much once?)

covering my hands in black (the devil is afraid of me) (he should be) (I will break all bottles of fear) (I will read books of doubt backward until they are unwritten) The letters that make up your name are unfamiliar ( my love is great but I die for no man) I am becoming illiterate s-u–n-f-l-o-w-e-r (words are my master) I cover what I can touch with my face that is violet ίοειδής stained with laughter. I am also blind ( too late to learn braille? never too late!)  what I want to feel I feel (I can still hear purple music) what I feel covered in gold, my hands can reach around your neck leave a mark (very small Chinese characters metallic ringing, tao te ching singing) love prints vibrate greenish blue bruises (atomic Arabic calligraphy right to left, right to left, Jerusalem ascensions) all the forgotten jewels, more colours than exist in this world, only me garnet, where are you ruby? onde está você agora? (How far is Japan from here?) you say you feel ‘strange’

(more words that do not make any sense) I try to forget one language to learn another (Pashto vs Portuguese vs Farsi vs Finnish) I try to forget all languages (you are on holiday in Vienna or Rio, either way it’s drinking coffee memories) also (heaven is here) How I knew you (the devil knows us all) or did not know you (willingly with angelic amnesia)

I try to be a little younger (I am no fool) then when I was young ( I am not fooling anyone) a little less than what I wanted to be (not much) a little more free (high hopes) (so much) proof (a growing garden) not there yet (I swim in earth’s soil) light on your skin (you are a seventh heaven Persian poetry beauty) erased marks (I used to be beautiful before we were born) a secret sound (the ocean!) no words at all (we are all fit for paradise, here) a bouquet of wildflowers (who brought these?) air (God) aloe vera on all our burns. Love. Nothing to prove (nothing to prove).

Nothing and nothing to love. To prove love, simply love.


Voyage to the Netherlands

Juliana Queen of the Netherlands dreamed
I drowned in the Wad Den Zee
she failed to realize I was born in a Barbary state of art
formed swimming, stealing breath, warmth for my limbs, soul
gold hidden accounts for my bread
I can steal what I need…
I reached the shore
ran from Marathon to Athens
to sing melismatically
with all the transgressions against me, I still sing sweetly ‘I am alive’
the Greeks defeated the Persians
yet I prefer Zoroaster to Aristotle, I like jumping over fire!
Juliana fled to New Amsterdam to die part of the land
dust and petrified wood transmigrating…

I dreamt she danced an impersonation of all that is real in a woman drums, yaki deer songs
while I continued to do laps from continent
freestyle to new borders and limits broken ships of passage
I thought I would rather dance
dance, dance Samba
shake, shake. Let it shake softly to love
I will not judge, feel anger
What is ‘The Last Judgement’ but the latest judgement of a man who thinks he knows me…


I NEVER pursued the depraved
but perhaps the ‘promiscuity’ of my thoughts
made them feel  like they had the right to imprison me
within perfection
I lay down with old Finnish poets using trochaic verse
Kalevala in the land of heroes, women who use knowledge of anatomy and the principal of leverage…

the truth!
So the strength of the opponent can be used against him
Jujitsu or juju magic charms
to be thrown at the spirits of greed wormed hate
Juliana returns to sugar beets
as I sink in mustard flowers
she holds lavender
I throw stones
she speaks in tidal waves
I use infixes to reach justice
maybe God, like the Arabic iq-ta-riba ‘to come nearer’
some sort of loose pedantry
to lie
voir dire
to a tribunal
a society that would see me guilty when I am innocent
but too poor to defend myself


I tell the world I hope when Juliana awakens
I am
drowned in the North Sea

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