Waking up to cock in the morning
after light on night because someone
wouldn’t sing the travellin blues
in comfort inn equivalent Marrakesh.
Look in mirror bathroom, hazy headed,
water undrinkable, them damn french kids
meandering early and le désir du Maroc
sitting on the shelf.
I want some tea! mint! make it what want I
and haggle price, I’ve lived full life, give me
hundred dirham, I’m a monkey, I’m a man,
I’m David Bowie singing Antoine Jackoff
over and over and over until café closes,
and lonely planet left on table, and thrust back
into streets to plaza, follow flute snake charmer
sound and eggs and oil and peeta pocket fried
cock morning in the rain.
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