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The Man With His Back To The Room Marrakech 1] The Souks: day The boy with fire in his eye & the quick hands
of a thief shuttles us beyond the chickens & lame donkeys to see how
wood is seduced copper is twisted & bent & scored & etched & polished & the tattooed hands of women & roasted dates which hum against the gums & snakes which bite & monkeys & Iguanas which do not...& mint tea & honey cakes & a single carpet sixty feet across & deep in the interior on a darkened street we're led to the peddler of bones who dances his fingers across a board shuttling skulls & knuckles & toes down the alleys of my life which throb & narrow & glow... 2] The Souks: night Men. & the aroma of roasting meat & fish fried crisp & boiling pots of broth & cous-cous piled high with diced tomatoes & roasted eggplant & chicken & almonds & onions & Men. Eager & jostling & eyeing the foreign women who've come to see & the air thickens & the air stiffens & a dozen lanterns create pockets of light where young
boys box for money & musicians & singers & some stop for a
meal & some for a sweet & the menu is the same & the menu
is different & the dark streets where cars & carts converge & you cannot breathe & cannot remove your mask but dance to the drum with your caftan stained & beard askew & a thin chain that glistens on your neck &... Men... |
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