Wednesday, September 14, 2016


Where the lemon-drop honey 
drips from palms. Where the 
old-style carbines and the 
machine guns with French 
Foreign Legion names still 
resound, and the camels are 
yet used for old Egyptian 
barter. Men have bet their 
imagined pyramids on these 
Boumedienne dreams. I sit, 
waiting for a haircut, at 
15 years old.

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