The Earing makers + Like bears

The Earring Makers

Two earring makers
revealed themselves to her
as earring makers.
The first a long time ago.
The second just recently.
But she doesn't wear earrings.
Among other things.

babe

Meet me, greet me, eease me into your world
Give me reasons to do things,
build me with your tools
but don't tell me what not to do
and don't you take my tools away

I'm going to be everything you don't want, and more.

Bear with me

PDF forever, Rough Guide unfinished

Locked in the contours of a face, wide eye and cheeks abroad

A paradise, but only in a layer

I stay there, for a long time, too long

I am captive, but I don't dig -

I have the tools I think, but I am afraid they won't work

For this is not a real place, not one that can really be attacked or altered

It choses itself and our experiences in it, as if we don't have a will

but we do.

Annihilation

Theres something so tantilising about a surface

Unbroken and untainted

Holding us there, in smooth valleys

between the features and down in large ponds

but there is limited wildlife here

and the bays they are stark and the waters see-through

A quiet place, for birdseye babes

Flat chested seagulls

who coo at the sight of a one sided world

we weep at the surface, we dine there

again and again and again and again

but the food, it is tasteless

as it always was.

green

Interlocked, on the Tahrir junction, now, garden , the smell of linen, detergent, and behind the ears

of what anyone might call love; is not enough to take me, this time, through the sleepless city, back to your ship of giant ants, and warmth, and comfort, a three storey desert house, of faded fabric, junk yard, balconies galore, and rooftop watching.

shabby matresses, and that turkish coffee morning; spilling over into the dawn of a new day slept through, a big sleep and never let go - of two docile bodies, clinging on like broken babies, in a city of bodies everywhere. Revolution? I don't want to leave - from this patch of grass, on the Tahrir junction garden; dressed and unable to touch properly, in safety, we are being watched.

paralized on a patch of grass, grown on top of old terror, new seeds planted - not another land, just another layer, I don't want to go.

Hijabis night bathing in blood, on this green spot of evolution.

Have a cup of tea koshari, the roots are a pain in my side, but, I just don't want to move






hale a taxi
but don't you go.
For here, in this shakey place
storeys high city,
you were my only home