From the Balcony

By Andrew Bell


The city hums, matchboxed


white linens fluttering,

air conditioner propellors spun softly

by a breeze mingling lightly

through the valleys and swells

of an organism breathing

in erratic but continual spurts of

gull cries and cat meows and 

ferry honks.

A horizon alien to nature

and natural in its almost complete

renunciation of it, save the

few trees peering around 

stone facades.

Satellite dishes ushering in 


to those contained below them

sitting, humming to the same

reverberating rhythm

of all life folded up in the

beautiful, bleak, majestic, roiling, confounding

colossus of Istanbul.



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