Friday, December 29, 2023



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


City Lights, 2023