The truth is

Your morality

To me, is devoid

Of humanity.

The truth is

My humanity

To you, is devoid

Of morality.

The truth is

Your civility

To me, is contingent

On my dramaticity.

The truth is

My civility,

To you, is contingent

On your generosity.

The truth is

There's no reciprocity

Between our ethics

Nor will there ever be.

The truth is,

There's no reality

We can share

Without duplicity.

The truth is,

I would not like to see

Any such world

Where I would agree.

Here, after adolescence was beaten

And the worm evaded the vicious

Birds that craved to eat him,

After he crawled into that chrysalis,

Shook it off as a moth, fluttering his wings

He finally asked himself: What was the purpose

Of struggling through those pointless things?

Last night, I read the news:

In the stroke of sentence

They'd managed to excuse

Mass murder in Palestine to mere circumstance.

Callous, I sighed to earn my forgiveness,

Warrant me to get back to my business.

Last night, a Lebanese song came at random,

On the radio investing in Nazi drones.

Those violins, that voice, wavered in tandem,

With the videos of blasts I'd seen on our phones.

Paralyzed, I cried to earn my forgiveness,

And turned it off, so I could get back to my business.

Last night, I went to the café and spoke Urdu

My neighbor told me, mistaking it for Arabic,

"I love the luxury of Dubai, don't you?"

In that word's shadow was Sudan, so, feeling sick

I bit my tongue to earn my forgiveness,

Told them "Sure" to get back to my business.

Last night, I turned on the TV so I could dance,

After a day of writing about labor trafficking,

An ad for Home Depot came on by happenstance,

I fell on the floor half shrieking,

Scratched at my skin to earn my own forgiveness

Left red by the time I could get back to my business.

Last night, on the way home from work, I saw they hit Isfahan,

Despot threatening to nuke an ancient civilization,

Dust not yet settled from Minab, mirrors still scattered in Golestan,

There could be no alleviation for so sick a nation.

I dug my pen into my palm to earn my forgiveness,

Walked to the bus stop, so I could get back to my business.

-

This sun beats down, rings like a gong,

Drowning the drone of this doleful heart

This cheery lithe light, laughing, sears severely and strong,

Scorching the shadow of this woeful heart

This blissful, blithe breeze beleaguers the ear with a suffocating song,

Berating the bawling of this reproachful heart

This verdant heat, its roiling radiance, will only prolong

The tepid tempest of this ingrateful heart.

For the callous delight of this bright blue-white day does not belong

To the stubborn abhorrence of this hateful heart.

-

But daylight tires of derision, dims into the dark where few stars throng,

And the moonless black cradles the aches of this scornful heart,

-

Night reliefs it from sight, sound, swathes it in its despair till dawn,

So the weary may be wept out of this mournful heart.

&----------------------------------------

Highway, Highway; lighten thyself

Of these wayward wheels &

The obstinate hands that steer &

Empty thyself of these clots, automobiles &

Their roars that puncture

The silent scream of the night &

Unburden thyself on this conjecture &

Allow these slight legs respite &

Mercy to the feet of this sanguine traveler.

Through thy asphalt artery.&

Vacuous veins &

Unpumping heart &

Show him mercy.

-

He breathes till he heaves &

His throats coarsens hoarse &

So he lifts his head to tearful heavens &

Y-a-w-n-s, sated, none the worse.

-

He runs till he walks &

Limps till he crawls, moans &

Then eats knuckle by knuckle &

Finger by finger, hands to the bones.

-

Nerves will have flowered &

Flesh will have flourished &

Skin will have sprout &

And he will walk on, self-nourished.

-

He hath no dream nor abode &

No destination nor door &

None to abandon thy road &

No wish to, while thou

Hath No start nor stop &

No cessation nor perpetuation &

No spite nor respite &

None to offer &

No wish to.

&--------------------------------------------

this CITY HATES YOU THIS

city HATES YOU IT

loves YOUR FEW HUNDRED DOLLARS BUT

you. YOURSELF ARE DESPISED

-

these DAYS YOU ARE CHEWED

days SPENT BETWEEN ITS METAL TEETH

you ARE CRUSHED AS YOU

traverse DOWN ITS CONCRETE THROAT

its NOT PERSONAL BUT YOUR

body IS ALREADY IN ITS MAW, READY TO BE CRUNCHED

like A COLLECTION OF MERE CARTILAGE

a JUNK CAR, MADE OF MEAT, A

louse POPPED UNDERNEATH A MANICURED NAIL

among THE MASSES YEARNING TO BREATHE FREE

bloated AS THEIR FLESH CONGEALS TOGETHER WHILE

ticks. IN SPORTS CARS FEAST ON THEIR REMAINS

-

mind-numbing VIVACITY, VAPIDITY IN

videos WHERE YOU STAR AS A PASSERBY AMONG THE

beautiful RICH AND SUPERIOR

poetry IN THE TRAIN CARS ABOUT THE

city THAT HATES YOU

glittering WITH A WEALTH THAT HATES YOU

strangers GLARING BECAUSE YOU RUINED THEIR SHOT

smiling TO THEIR AUDIENCE

back TURNED TO THE POOR

you ARE VERMIN, NOT MEANT TO

preservere.

-

Your maleness deemed you useless,

Gave them reason to be ruthless,

Practicality spared you the knife,

And thrust you in to dye,

Stained pink for life

Caged and displayed, little toy

The beast that compelled them

bought you, brought you, named you

Cooed and called you its little baby chicken boy

---

So I held you in the palm of my hand

You closed your eyes in the crook of my neck

We sleep in the sun, you peck

Dig worms from the dirt,

Shake, defecate gently on my shirt

My little baby chicken boy

---

By June,

Your legs have grown tall

Candied feathers fall,

You fluff marigold.

---

Come the Monsoon,

You become heavier to hold,

Your chirrups turn to bawks,

I’m told youre a bother

Needing a bigger box.

So I leave you in the coop,

Watch you dig worms from the dirt,

Peck at my pants, poop on my shirt,

--

In July,

I visit you when it’s dry,

When the sky,

Begins to bloat, I

Kiss you goodbye,

The clouds open their throat,

And begin to cry,

I sit in my room,

And let you die.