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 sophia 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 anyway 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 Continue reading postcard #2 – istanbul