postcard #2 – istanbul

i am unwritten
but i am beautiful
and there is, truly
so much written
in my walls
but all you see
are spires
and minarets
and the sun rising
like desert fire
throwing them
into dusky relief

i want to call myself
and call myself wise
sancta sapientia
and sings song about
cities that once were
still are
what’s in a name
i’d call you byzantium
and name all my daughters
after muses and maenads
and the apple tea will
be spiked
and we will float down
the bosphorous
dreaming once more

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Basically, I deal in words.

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