El Violin: Valencia ( A Love Poem to the Spanish City of Oranges

Bohemian nights in Valencia where the gypsies shred violins into the coming dark
“Rhythmic swells reverberate trough my lungs. The back streets of Valencia.

Back street Europe.

Romani enclaves and gypsy parts of town.

We’ll sit here in the Plaça de la Virgen with our stiff sangria, smartly bashful in red-faced delerium.

For it is Spring and the blossoms have begun to sing. 

A nod to blanco nerium”

A poem to the City of Oranges. An Open Love Letter to the City of Valencia, Spain.

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Sketching Sights: Istanbul, City on the Edge (Art. Travel. Writing. Islam. Architecture)

The Bosphorus splits Istanbul in two parts. A rift in the madness of Europe and Asia, drifting between bodies of fresh and salt water cooling the heated passion of a most ancient urban jungle. The hot, hot, heat of human movement generates organized chaos as this great strait, this rift, cushions the blow, keeping this…

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“Like Walking Through a Dream” (on North Africa)

“It’s like walking through a dream: where everything glows a soft infusion of yellow-gold and the lightness of being is simply enough.” -excerpt from an old interview on the emotions, sensations of traveling North Africa (Image. Morocco)

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A Triangle Under a Spotlight Sun

“I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. Feel the sun beating over my brow, speckled and damp and her brow wet like honey. The blood rushing and wet like honey. The blood rushing. The beating heart in Kansas City. The honeyed skin, the beating hearts, the beating suns. Wet like honey. A triangle…

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