In succulent clouds raw with symbols I am a
Palestinian celebrating the destruction of my
oppressors, eating your children with bombs in my
teeth until all of us are dust.

I get sick of gray skies, eventually. A small bottle
of white-out will finish my hands, slip the firmament
until it, like me, is invisible: on the recieving end,
blotting any horizon with my skin, I become less than,
and bauble. They wear me. When there is sun,I can hear
them buying and selling under the street. Cars lie
wrenched along the treelawn, doubled over in parch.

This was an alien rain, slices of sky inserted
everywhere, lacing my solitude until each link seems
an indictment of pointilism. I'm a Palestinian, knives
in my teeth as I try to breath under their map. I'm
trying to figure difference and distance.



=====


This is as useful as a doll.–Gertrude Stein

Poem of the Day:http://www.lewislacook.com/POD/index.php

associate editor, _sidereality

http://www.sidereality.com/

——–

http://www.lewislacook.com/

tubulence artist studio: http://turbulence.org/studios/lacook/index.html











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