twinkie_chainsaw

Sorry, but I have to subject you to my late night inspiration. So, here's a poem I've been working on, feel free to critique, I'm into that:

I Got Diarrhea on the Marrakech Express

One ray of sunlight zips
Through space, separating
A sea of atoms, penetrates
White clouds and goes into full
Nose-dive past skinny cats
On thatched roof tops.

I sit above it all sipping
Cool green mint tea, leaning
Back as if I had nowhere to go
Nothing to do but listen
To the noise of Five hundred thousand
People sell and trade, listen
To children playing soccer in
narrow dirt floor alleys, listen
to the cry of the call to prayer
By old men amplifying their
Frail voices over dissonant mega-phones

I could walk by the mosque and enjoy
The angry look of a man missing
One eye as I try to see into his
Private spot. But Id rather be on
Rooftop contemplating a Young Moroccan
Waiter who looks out of place
Every time he sips the tap
Water, unsafe for me.

I eventually leave, shouldering backpack,
Stopping at shop to buy one last
Chicken pastry with sugar
And cinnamon. And I will fail
To notice that my dinner
Has been sitting out since breakfast
On the glass counter. And I will not
Taste its warmth, my tongue being
So overwhelmed by buttery chicken
Blend. And I will pay for this
Mistake as I spend ride back west
Looking into toilet whose hole reveals
The fast tracks moving underneath.