Photo by Bruno Gonçales — CR on Foter.com / CC BY-NC

Camus & Casablanca

Gone to sepia, faded,
like the photograph of a forgotten company
out in the sands of Morocco,
wind-swept vistas framed by makeshift perimeters,
the starboard lights are bleeding red
the neon lights are whispering
and the dusts are whirling existentially.

There is a bridge to Camus and Casablanca,
and diplomatic agents issuing tourist visas
for one day visits to heaven or hell with
no lodgings included, but icons provided freely
for prayers and meditations, and Lenten vacillations,
the painted eastern horizons, as each new day dawns
to yawns and abrogations, and new resolution.