This piece is inspired by the King Crimson song "Satori in Tangier"
Hot stink of livestock, cooking grease and excrement
Brutal sun pushing down like an artifact of gravity
Shouts and curses, jingling bells, cries from the vendors
Under my feet, the ground is alive with debris and offal
An American out of time, out of place, outcast
Eyes track me surreptitiously and not so much
Frequent bumps by muscular youth, daring me
Hands at my pocket, once, twice, I slap them away
Ah there, the merchant I seek, his face impassive
He sees me and through me, knows why I'm there
I dip my hand into my pocket, sweaty and shuddering
Pull out the local currency in a great damp wad
His hand takes the money and he turns, without speaking
I follow, through the stalls, counters and boxes
My heart pounding, the sun beating me senseless
He slips through a curtained doorway and I go through
Room smelling of hashish, coffee, sweat and gun oil
Men stop speaking as we walk past, heads swiveling
Another curtained doorway, beads clacking over me
A whimper, a gasp, a tear, my eyes cannot see
They untie her from the chair, she sits there stunned
Her face gaunt, streaked with dirt, her long hair
I lift her up, hold her to me, shaking, shuddering frame
Lead her through the curtained doorways into light.
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