Bloodhounds

The ping pong pachyderm the pseudo suicide with the butter knife

the ripe kite reeling kneeling on grapes to make wine

The sing song sassafras wrapped up in the trapped gas mask

the green beret he wore to war grimy and deranged

he returned with PTSD up to his knees a blank stare and a wad of cash.

The newspapers said it was all a sham blasted in group texts

pressurized in fountains of bloodhounds

sitting at the bar when no one was around

talking to the mirrors on the blank walls

talking to his war bride

about his role in the genocide.

Song Theory

No song is bad song.

No song is a good song.

A great song knows itself.

Your closest friends don't know you.

The quietest place on earth is the place to play.

You're not telling a story, the story is telling something to you.

 

Wormholes

Silence the long lost friend

the quiet breath of the earth

as she sighs

giving me all and leaving nothing behind

cream colored wall paper

falling off in chunks

to show the wood underneath

with all its wormholes

Kiss the Earth

What is stopping me from writing bad poetry?

Absolutely nothing.

War machine

stop like an overloaded washing machine

can't turn

can't burn cities

can't turn babies into bombs

Your Barbie fueled demon sunshine slaughterhouse

Rafah dumpster fire sickening sirens screaming in dead of night 

fun house mirrors you see righteousness

capsized in the sea of war

all drunken sailors

high on pillaging

sucked deep into the 

dead of night

in the silence

when the bombs stop

and people pray

their headache overloads

the mind

the neurons fire

kiss the earth

kiss the earth

kiss the earth

Spring in Palestine

There is definitely a madness to the earth I can smell it

like the dirt of spring rich with earth worms and decaying leaves

Primavera rises like small green shoots

rudely piercing the dirt to reach the sky.

In Palestine there is rubble

the Spring is augmented by the hurtful rockets

of bombs and debris

why, the girl cries out, is Spring not for me?

We've all heard the story of Hind

Heartbreaking it makes us want to scream and cry for her

so we block traffic

trying to unblock minds.

Photography

Some days I am taking photos of shadows,

and then the sun moves.