Scythe

[You guessed it – Morocco poetry! Now with custom artwork which I may have drawn first and then written a poem around…]

I put my skull in a box/
tied it up with ribbon/
and gave it to you

You cut the ribbon, threw it aside, recycled the box, and held my being in your hands. “It will do,” you said.

You plugged my skull up with wax, then stored your gold coins within. Such treasure I had never seen! “Soon,” you said.

My body still stood in the corner. For fun, we threw knives into it. The soft thuds were satisfying and I felt no pain.

Later we took the eyes from my old body and made soup. You poured it into my skull for me, but the wax ran and the soup spilled. You threw my skull across the room and it cracked on the bare stone wall. It lay broken on the floor and suddenly I was in it again and it all went black.

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The View

[Short piece from Morocco. Can you believe we’re still going with these? I know, right! Enjoy anyway…]

I walked through a valley with guns and dust on each side and skulls grinned from the ground and vultures grinned from dead trees.

I came to a cement plant and told the workers what I’d seen and they threw me into┬áthe mixer ‘to cast my lies in stone’.