stiletto crow - poetry show

jamón y queso

The balcony in our apartment; its natural sweetness didn’t stop me throwing a fig, which landed in front of the black slab of car park. Roller-blading Gandia youth used it in the evenings, as we sat building and the orange groves grew. Or we ate ham, jamon in Spanish, something like a phenomen, the mountains like a fluffed-up pillow behind us. We built up a pan appetite, bueno appetito; balcony city, our enchanted forest, graffiti skulls as far as the we could see, each day a safe adventure, topped with booze. Off daily to lifelong learning and clickety corpora, the bus of pensioners going one way, the joggers another. We made notes and no notes through a sheaf of presentations, some with feathers on, some blunt, some on target some, uh, not. It’s like a jungle sometimes. We absorbed various bouillons of CALL, suddenly back at school, a gang of kids sharing a joke and tentacles. The sand got everywhere, even cyberspace and our dreams; Ibiza was almost within spit distance. The dancers crawled up Spanish stairs, wonderful surreal affront to the literal-minded. American women we observed casting lines of lust like fishing lines. Steve Thorne said “we go forward together” so we developed a framework for implementation, bricolage and baby dragons, the patatas bravas parallel session. The pastel tints and buxom balconies, beer on the beach Yoshiki Muraki Sake Jager Fernando Rosell-Aguillar Kurt Kohn Aga Palalas, us, using these days, wringing out the flavour, extracting the nutrients, we are good we'll be better jamón y queso