The Sultan of Ajban

"oh that the desert were my dwelling place,
with only one fair spirit for my minster.
That I might forget the human race,
And hating no one, love her only."
- Lord Byron


Ra is heated
his perpetual brilliance cast out
so scorpions retreat to the shadows
cowering into narrow creases.

Their sting burns
lightly
against the searing of bare flesh

so I never notice
the vast expanse expanding
in a distending mirage.

Jaded djinn wail within the feral sands
whip my eyes
taunt me with an inescapable fast.

Lips bleed
I stoop to my knees
wait

for light to bow below the dunes
to the empress wrapped
in silver folds of sand

glimmers in the cooling starlight
my divining rod.

Long fingers weave the wind
soothing spring kisses
lift me
along a silk road
towards her hidden oasis.

She breathes softly as we bathe beneath
swirling planets
whispers

'I will wrap you in the finest of silks.
For you are the Sultan of Ajban.'

At The Fair

Trapped in a mechanical popcorn wind
The ride erupted, tossing us with calculated detonations
And within the rust-iron cage
We imagined the streaking neon flashes
Into falling sparks

Screams above and beside
Within us
Holding your balance with one hand
You clutched your breast pocket with the other
But couldn’t keep the hotdog in

You were always smiles and hilarity
A warm red caramel fix
Of candy apples
In a dark carnival
Your disarming masquerade

Driving me home on vapid country highway
The car veered unnoticed
Because you were a joker cackling
The punch line eluding me

When it’s not expected
A wheel turning gravel feels like dentist drills
Abrasive friction, stomach dissolving into itself
Like the screams within us

You were telling me you stopped drinking
As the ditch slammed into your door
My face into the glove compartment
The rust-irony unfolding in the random blasts

Rolling in that silent chaos of head trauma
I could only think
Fuck you, fuck you
While imagining the falling sparks
Into streaking neon flashes