Your breath is like
wasp in the night
gloomy down town lights
imaginary bottle rocket intifada
overdosing on prescription pills
in a glass jar for bumblebees
in the time of fall harvest
or spring awakeing
of nature’s chest once dead in snow
your breath is one with dark abyss
we’ve grown to call earth
even though all we saw as children
was gray
Someone should have asked Pharoh to bomb every hospital in Amman in 1957
And leave a blank line for the future
Because of empty words and eugenic trespasses
And age-old fictional alter egos
That study their hashemite scalds and narrators
Around bedouin campfires
Amidst the dancing smell of fire-brewed coffee from the dallah-pot
Loveless entities like djinns in the Negev
While the Levant cries for her grandchildren
As the lion for it’s whelps
NordicWords 