What they have been doing is giving me a lot of mouth talk and nothing in writing
I’m willing to give away the memory of two planes plowing into towers,
the billowing black smoke, flood of ash, faces without expression, the incomprehensible implosion
in the way ties her into a little white knot of tight-smiled
fury. She walks around with that same doll smile crimped
between her chin and her nose and that same calm whir
Continues to drive the nation: three servings of milk
or cheese. Afraid to offend? Smart business.
There’s a lot here that people can’t eyewash. It’s
the most popular with you and your people: the gap of vulnerability
She’s trembling, a tremor for each thought she has of cutting
herself, a tremor for each memory of cutting herself.
They were ordered to fire, exhaustion pounding every pore.
She struggled to the front door, frustrating the elders,
slicing backward to her past
The rude peace butted into a short swerve beyond our
show. Sulking mouth, one raced its perch; the sad
work tuned and rained beside the light. The show was law,
was once wit with a steep front perch and groans
shatter, long ago carded to the cellar of the slot-gray
year. Ruin-ratted hinges dropped over the ease of the voracious
The tragedy that came to the area they call the Teachers’
Houses began at 8 a.m. yesterday. As members of the Haz al
Sabr family cleaned up after breakfast in three adjacent houses,
they were at first startled by an explosion that blew out all the
windows in neighboring houses.
Seconds later, a FROG missile being stored by the US Army for
destruction ploughed into the center of this little community