It is a matter of recognition, of something older. Perhaps cliff edges. Bridges frighten me. I feel a strong urge to jump.
Give me Arabica – Kenya AA or Ethiopian Harrar preferred.
On the last coffee – Harrar – no wonder Arthur Rimbaud lingered so long in Harrar. I have my New Directions 1961 copy of A Season in Hell in front of me.
“I’d like to thank God for fucking up my life. And at the same time not existing. Quite a special skill.”
Sean Hughes a specialist in his own right.
Died Monday 16th October 2017.
The tragic lament “Un safisoa porfia” with Montserrat Figuerras haunting voice…
Karrayyuu Hotel night
Drinking St Georges beer in the shade
of the top floor of the Karrayyuu hotel
watching vultures and black kites
perform smooth spiralling turns
on updrafts above the Matahara
slaughter house while the sun sets
on the caldera of Mount Fantalle.
In darkness the truck stop is a death stop
in the dance room hard rock plays
harsh shrieking uncontrolled laughter
hookers bump and grind and shine
glistening with sweat and AIDS reigns
at each stop the virus spreads.
We lie under a skagged mosquito net
sleep evades us as we lie listening
for that high pitched whine in the din
of the rhythm of the pounding bass.
Death comes and falls in many forms
in a truck stop on the deep rutted Djibouti road
in the dried out summer of the Rift Valley.
Everyone waits for rain.