Poetry

The Witch’s Heart

Well, it ain't like the shotgun isn't loaded,
like he gets the shakes to aim, like he couldn't
plug a flying nickel at four dozen paces, soused, blindfolded,
in a foul wind, turned round thrice and told to fire.

Poetry

Tur Disaala

If Tordesillas were Tur Disaala
And the ‘New World’ were Moorish
Would the yearning have been so tacit
for the treasures of an unknown empire
The sailing ships westward from Al-Ishbuna