Sea of pens & feathers &all other instruments of faith& sex &god in the belly of a black-winged bird
In light of having no other offers, I think I might take myself to Paris for New Years. Any excuse to be there.
Off to the city of frozen lights where my heart will be light too.
That place has permeated my skin like Morocco did hers.
You absorb the culture by osmosis.
I guess I was lucky enough to have it my blood through birthright.
In any case it’s in your blood and as the tides flow, so does your entire being. The sea of it will carry you back, by hook or by crook.
And you will be permanently torn by cultures that have been placed inside you like rusting treasures, my objects d’art, or that have made their way through your skin, penetrating cell walls.
One day, I may not just be torn into four by culture and love, but I may continue multiplying until I am no longer able to stay on the earth, blown away to all 16 corners of the globe.