Re-blogging because it’s so damn cold and I want to be in Morocco again. And I feel a bit like the cat currently…


I am sick. As the matted cat that glares

through one half-gummed eye,

crouching in its pain beyond the lure

of fish guts putrefying fast

in the heat on the harbour;

where hulking machines bristling against

the edge of land unload the last inhabitants

of the sea’s belly they scooped out in nets,

furled now like plastic shrouds on decks of death.

Last feeble flaps on the homemade slabs of the vendors

beat out the ebbing of life at the morning tide;

scum-coated litter bearer.

The tourists delight at the hustle of life

at this continent’s brink.Noise, colour and stink.

Cat’s squinted eye sees through the masque

of death for means to grasp at the earth’s skin

for another ride. Worms abide in his dying insides.

I too host a worm that flew,

like Blake’s, through the dark and rain and grew.

I close my eyes.

Seeking the red interior-

View original post 15 more words


2 thoughts on “Fish market 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s