From the far-off lands, / arrived they / by the shuttles so swift, / more than / the feet of light / anxious, sick and shaken / all they had, was / battle and brutality / ego and guile / and mushroom clouds / to fight.
when she tells you her secrets and desires / and whispers promises as the sun extinguishes / and the city’s luminance seeps into her skin
this is where the dissidents come to rest, here the holy temple / that lets them all have what’s coming to them, for better or for worse—but i am not dead…
The rich build towers to the sky, harpoon the clouds and tow them to their vineyards, keep them on short chains so they don’t get it in their cotton minds to wander.
It hardly seems surprising that djinns and djinnis could have apparated to the ancients of this place, the land of purity and dust, dust that settles over everything and can only be disturbed by the clumsy hands of a foreigner
Deny she was ever a star, / or, failing that, / deny she ever went nova. / Deny that she burnt / brighter than galaxies, / brilliant in ultraviolet.
