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The Condition 4

 

I want to be a diaspora or

at the very least a dispatch

driver we call him youssef

because he might have been

youssef once we call ourselves

godly but I keep becoming

ungodly there are segments

and sessions layers and treatments

there’s a jewel in their cannon

waiting to be fired it won’t

bring down any walls it’s

not a jericho shaking trumpet

there’s no one who can play it

just a saxophonist with no

standards when I ask him

what he’s seen he never mentions

turkey when I press him about

ataturk he disappears into work

into the fires of a furnace into

the yellow scars in his eyes

sometimes I see him as if half

hidden behind a gate a line

of smoke rising when it’s dispersed

I tell him he shouldn’t gamble with fate

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About michaeleganpoetry

Liverpool based poet and editor. I have had four pamphlets of poetry published, most recently After Stikklestad (Knives, Forks and Spoons Press, 2010). Penned in the Margins published my first collection, Steak & Stations, in 2010.

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