Just give me a simple brick hut with its doors tightly shut, and a cooling crossflow breeze, shaded by banyan trees. I won't be expelled by AI or sold the daily lies. We can talk live, not by "hit send" -- clueless to the world's end.
summer dusk: our world is flat & black, while sky is textured.
The Bohemian writer Franz Kafka, more conflicted than Queen Jocasta, wrote tales, absurd -n- surreal... yet how factual they feel.
spring is here. the hills have greened. the field is plowed.
big, busy leaf:
light bullets through,
too fast to process.
What place in the world do you never want to visit? Why?
Mecca. I know where I’m not wanted (i.e. where there’s a sign saying my presence is prohibited.) Incidentally, I would go to funky, cold Medina in a heartbeat. Fun fact: it’s not cold (having not been there, I can’t attest to its degree of funkiness.)
boats rock in the bay, their languid motion watched 'til darkness swallows.
A fire flares
up Mosque Road.
Orange flames burn brightly
beyond the ovals lit by
feeble streetlamps.
Some fat 's hit the fire,
and the smoke 's
rising high.
The throngs have arrived --
hungry & huddled,
with tiny plates of
jiggly cubed meat.
The pious --
angry stomachs,
vibrating to sundown
&
Impious Instagrammers
(or, at least, substantially less pious,)
having their eighth tiny meal
of the day
(some spit into a bucket, Hollywood-style.)
All gathered to break bread --
except there is no bread
(save the occasional roomali roti)
So, instead, they bite basa or mutton
or chicken or camel or prawns --
all smoky
all devoured.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 