Under the Central Tower
For Matta
Hands wandered on the keys
And strange words came from Her
Floating to the surface of the creek
I listened to the dialect of undressed sexes
Hands were writing on valves
Twenty-four seven
And assassinations would follow
In the same bluish twilight where steel snakes whistle
Where gulls shriek and mature women blossom
With swollen pistils and cheap wounds
I was a bit intimidated
It would have been so delicious
To piss in the street
___________________
Joyce Mansour
translated by Emilie Moorhouse
EMERALD WOUNDS
City Lights, 2023
