untitled #5
Some people are neutral, others just ugly. But the neutral intrigues, it demands a judgement that never arrives: it waits for hatred, sits for love, but nothing ever comes. I wonder what morning looks like to the Neutral.
Black Holes
there are those moments when the tears blind … everything becomes a star and the universe hurts. there are those moments when breath will not come … the clouds freeze and die, and nothing moves from fear. i dreamt we were all laughing, arguing over who would make coffee. the smiles and rolling sounds were … Read moreBlack Holes
En Route to Amman
Flying over a Million yearsof being sad, dying.The glowing lights below,the empty streets -where is my Jericho,whose walls have fallenlike whores’ pantiesaround ears and ankles?The doomed silence,raging with the child’spiercing cry,is not afraidto be silent for 10,000,000more breaths.And I, I am not either.
Memoirs
100 pounds of insanity,just enough brainsto flatter sexuality.Dreaming of those lips,pondering that ass.A million firemenpouring onto your flame -but the alleywayswill always be a reminder:September autumns,Georgian winters,never a Catholic christmas.Such savagery dragsthe bird into the cat’s lair.Delinquent Suffrage,let your voice be heard,through windowsup-out from toilets.Infections are your memoirs:my heart will always be sick.
Aafia Siddiqui.
i am ashamed. why didn’t they just murder you, like they did your young child? why didn’t they sell your 2 oldest to Afghan Warlords, as they do? your existence is a stain on us. i cry dry tears for your suffering so long in the despair of Nations. your broken body, deformed spirit wake … Read moreAafia Siddiqui.
Rough Poetry
The Poetry is gone.Left in a hurryafter getting dressed;Drank the last swig of wine,emptied my walletbefore slamming the door.It’s mourning again,the Sun’s accusations burning …The Poetry asked for it rough,begged to be hurt,said it wanted to feel alive.Now I feel guilty, ashamed -the wine and wallet are inadequate,my own death is inadequate.My poor, sweet poem:ravaged … Read moreRough Poetry
heart’s marketplace
I stand at the bar trying to hold on through the waves of visions: Letters to Muses, eons since last week. Whores that will not tell me the price … Insisting it was me – the whore – demanding payment! We’ll never get anywhere if we can’t agree on Buyer & Seller.
Ruination Day
Had I known The visions would plague My waking hours, I might have rejected Such flippant pleasures. Were I aware of the suffering, The blindness that comes from staring into the sun, I might have caught my train. But I was not, And now, I am able to see nothing – The blackness of ecstasy: … Read moreRuination Day
modality
Shall it be said that we did what we could, limited only by what we would? Shall we not consider that we should, even if it means it would be good? and where does charity stop and genuine love begin? can we not continue to shop for love again? (and again and again and again)? … Read moremodality
I have not died
I could never be what was needed, the peace negotiator was murdered in Belgrade, during the battle of trust against the savage Serbs. And without negotiators, there will never be peace. platitudes and flattery won a tenuous retreat so that my wounds could fester in love’s mad jungle. Reaching the edge, there is no satisfaction … Read moreI have not died