Blood & Sand


I left a part of me

In Morocco.


Covered in sand

And blood


It pushed through the surface

The view was much too high

The streets too greasy,

Full of refuse and cats

Men rattling


'Come here, girl.

Beautiful eyes.'


There is something lost in translation

That cannot be regained

And I am full

And I am empty


Where my blood runs deep.


The sewers smell of feces & cats


But somehow

The blossoming & unblossoming


The becoming


The smile of a young girl

And the tears of an older one


The scent of sea & sky

And camel

And tree


Hot words from Argentina

Test my honesty

With myself

And the mirror isn't kind


"People risk their lives every day


They would kill for your passport

Or the color of your skin..."


And I wonder

What on earth do I have to cry about?

How much are your tears actually worth,

In weight?


Put things in perspective.

What, really, is my blood?


My laughter?


Blood flows, like sea & tears & sand

Somehow the heat of Morocco

Feels like a bandage on old wounds


The fear & anger

Fills a hunger


And suddenly, I am not afraid


Now, in the snow of England & Scotland

The advertisements shouting from the televisions


Seem more ferocious to me

Than men rattling on the streets

Of Morocco...


"Hello, musician.

Hey, Jimmy Hendrix...

Why won't you say hello?"


“Lose 5 pounds by Saturday;

There's a sale on at Penny's

Find the love of your life, now!

Just call 445678912345...5...5...

Only £5.99!!!”


I find myself longing for the heat

Of Morocco

Foreign sounds & stranger places

Beds that bite & colors & spices

The sand & filth & smells

The honesty of dishonesty & dirt

The honesty of simplicity

The honesty of my own blood

And that constant sickness in my stomach

Which, in the end,

Feels like a familiar friend...


And I wonder where I have been

And who I have become

And who I would have been if

For once in my life

I had stayed, just a little...


'People die every day.'


And there it is.

And I have to go.


How much will you pay?