There are no buses in the desert

Said Alf

There are no deserts in the buses

Said Marie

I was in Tangier writing poetry

When I first met the twins

Who were identical in all ways

Except gender

Return to Sender

Was written on the parcel

That lay on my wooden table

It had not left the city

Which disappointed me

But at least it was pristine and clean

The deserts in the area

Were called Alf and Marie

After the twins

One was to the north of the city

And the other was in the south

They were quite unremarkable deserts

Passages of sand and lyricism

Burnt pale under the scald towers

That measured their parameters

Of late I have been feverish

The illness has a confused history

And occurs only in Tangier

I have studied the etiology of my condition

But have travelled no nearer to completion

The identical twins arrange my welfare

But for hours on end I sit listless on a balcony

That has views to the southern desert

I often see buses travelling on the dusty roads

But know that I am hallucinating

As there are no buses in the desert

And no deserts in the buses black and white