TE19 Iberian Adventure

Poems

In that room-decreed-home, on the edge of the bed I’m stopped, melted into plunging repose; peace sitting on the edge. The immutable scent of liberation is withdrawn;

Ottoman throwback women mourners sing in Bulgaria – before the hearts of its sages were banned – they tremble me back to when stunning calligraphies sang in the Ulu Jami.

I gaze down sharp grey-slate rooftops, softened by chimney-smoke-fused mist... Destiny is bipolar sweet and hot and when she drives you out of your Egypt

to will a bondage with liberty herself – you’re free, a slave on freedom’s terms. There’s a just overlooking, a time-out meted-out for women in grief – especially

women in grief – he was absent yet still simmering my undercurrent raw love-cries, inexorable womb flames screaming as if labour is emergency looming –

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