at the entrance to the citadel Poem by antoine de kom

at the entrance to the citadel
we were received
by the manager in charge. he gave us the names said and zahara
showed his photos of carter juan carlos called life short and led us
to a workshop for the maintenance of panties behind which lay secrets.
an abundance of very fine hair and shame. it was for sale but
way beyond our budget. the man had three cousins there
they murmured hafez bashar maher

we forgot a lot: the tomb full of black angels in the desert
graffiti on frescoes God on a camel with forms. he said gather
your tears, judge the grave by its content shake the butter tree forget bars.
we ate meals we ourselves devised and as wine chose
the fakra (www.fakra.com) while around us the desert grew emptier
full of feather-light black rags, we saw some migs
sky-blue and radar revolving. new asphalt. a base very deeply hidden

in yoghurt that was dry and rock-hard. to defend it just repeatedly
add water and keep refreshing it. we saw it. this is a country
largely hidden under the ground but not without vibrato.
as quickly as we left a regime may fall. hafez bashar maher.
in battle array the sixteen services secret from each other. heavy clouds hung
over the desert. from afar hairy cargos crawled from baghdad
past bush and sheep. the end of neutral art.
royals were thrown out of windows their bodies were dragged
through the streets. we heard: would numbers 1 to 34 come to the gate!