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Perfume and bottle of ink. Dreams and hope shattered. We will smile back sometimes, somewhere and nothing on earth can make life more worthwhile. * A city breaking loose from within. Cars, movement, people.... an uninterrupted motion of thoughts and ideas. Music rubbing into walls. Lights coming on, and later out on the street. Laughter and obscenities climbing from the throats. Lassos falling short of the moon. Hot sand stretching. Men in suits. Caged romances. Secrets beneath orange haze. It is Wednesday, night. The city is tumor-growth mud-brick and concrete, streets high walled and brick-sandwiched houses back to back/street back to front, walls bulging towards each other in a half embrace lanes branch tentacle you prowl along an octopus, at the crack of dawn you enter the reef. Soon the city will know, name, age, height... and a birthmark, noticeable scars. Police marksmen, armed and ready.... Then an ad... then nothing. Other faces disinterested, pressed against the calm. No fear in their hollow faithfulness. Faces trusting strangers. Statistics waiting for a crash. Tires burn and the feet. Burning. Burning. It is Wednesday night, you know From the main street see how hills are distant, locked in their silences. Fertile patterns to the land. The brown language of the constant, southern winds as July comes in like a lion and leaves like a lamb. Perfume and bottle of ink Dreams and hope shattered, swept away by a giant wave. I survive, although I'm in the wrong city, having learned to guess where surfaces used to be. But unprepared and bootless. Oh, if I could but journey there beside you. Each time you smile you think it is true. We will smile back at your sometimes, somewhere and nothing on earth can make life more worthwhile. Red and gold. Rippled both shores. If there were rock and also water. And water. A spring. Sweat is dry and feet are in the sand. Here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit. After the torchlight red on sweaty faced. After the frosty silence in the gardens. The shouting and the crying. Prison and palace and reverberation. Of thunder of spring over distant mountains. You who turn the wheel and look to windward. A current under sea. Burning. Burning, Burning. White towers. Dusty trees. The wadi sweats. Oil and tar. The barges drift. With the turning tide. Red sails. Wide. O city, city! And a clatter and a chatter from within. At the violent hour, the evening hour that strives. Unshaven with a pocket full of currants. Throbbing between two lives on Wednesday night. My eyes failed. I was neither. Living or dead, and I knew nothing. Dry grass singing. Falling towers. Unreal. And voices singing out of empty cisterns and exhausted well. . Do you know what is like to be "unfettered"? That the earth from sleep shall arise and seek. And the desert wild will become a garden mild. Experiencing a feeling of spiritual elevation. Profound existential gratitude. Communion with elemental forces. Acceptance of divine will. Things on the hinge of fate. Having the gift of prophecy, and speaking the truth. Do you know what is like to be "unfettered"? Telling it like it is." Awakened to the larger implications of life. Divine grace. Limitless creativity. Channeling from a higher source
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