They will have dried by December - for Gonca Özmen & my friends in Istanbul

They will have dried by December

for Gonca Özmen

En Coeur en hiver best described true, it just ages
ends it arbitrarily = Turkey as a bird that took to smacking
its beak like the world was a war, as though pornography
cocaine isn’t also eastern, there, like an apple is eaten
so some seeds force you to stop / do it, somewhere, also
talk around in the dark, re-greetable, though if we hadn’t
been on our own it could’ve been so much better
a series ... athletes with water cannons warm around
our necks as we close in on deforestation in Istanbul
the high st.   our friends poisoned, it’s white beauty
of yet again ... police versus army, people versus the
hidden elites, with their own private beauty? rest
assured, if something lands we will pick it up
your enemi, temporary, time relativity, transitory
territory “I’m afraid when anyone says for you I will
lay down my life”    that stretches beyond that river lamb
a caused way square, grown three dimensional
to contain people, because it is boxed at birth
its meat = a cake half, I could find water, it’d become
water, the rains of Castemere, a play, o now there’s
water, tied up in this, a concern, embrace the grind
embrace the selfish, the ‘what do you care about?’
the lamb squeaks, pain is just weakness leaving a body
beyond the country      but we are with the crowd not the country

There’s a lot worse people than me walking about