The Landlord

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I'm like a philistine who would gladly befriend a sculptor,
A Salafist who says Good Morning to neighbouring prostitutes…
Things are going well.
I first knew what a landlord was in Crime and Punishment,
and now I manage a block of concrete with a blockfull of migrant workers and occasional poor men in transition; same old story.
I go by the code: no women allowed.
(I have "a reputation to keep?" No!)
The best of my neighbours would still say, "This belongs to the Egyptian." "Call the Palestinian." A force of habit. Here, names are seldom used.
Things are going well.
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Sometimes it is, indeed, an accomplishment to get around, helping oneself, but, oh, the suffering I get from silence! I hold things inside that were never meant to be stacked:
My thoughts and sentiments in limbo.
It's a flower you see peaking behind the quoin, but you can't tell whether it's standing on the earth or in a pot.