Chevalier de l'apocalypse
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One summer, so long ago now, I traveled with a Galician gypsy writer friend of mine around and inside an island in the Mediterranean sea aboard a white caravan. We climbed up to the mountain to sleep at the temple in all its infinite stones and descended into the caves of the Phoenician tombs. He cooked & drove and I slept on the floor. We listen to Nick Cave, swam naked, sang, sweated, jumped the walls of the graveyard and hide from the sun & the tourist under the huge fig trees. We danced to the muses by the wells, shout from the watchtower and espied the yachts and the mirrored sky of the dawn over the water. And it was nice
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