Graz, Austria
Tourists are fighting at a near table
In this cafe close by the mountain,
Something about losing the map or the tickets
My French isn’t what it used to be.
Borges I remember your witty comment on the Falklands war,
Britain and Argentina
“two bald men fighting over a comb”.
It was worse than that of course:
Thousands of children dead for an ink stain.
Still I like these mornings out of the library
Taking the lottery of blind streets wherever the numbers fall.
NO one should confuse aestheticism with sightlessness
Or imperial ambitions with the washroom.
I hold close to strange paths in every city.
In general, meeting people there
Is the antidote to showing off one’s clothes.
S.K.
Planet of the Blind 