ii variations on song

do you look the weeping weapon
in the eye     do you stand in stead
of mirth     can we speak
the sated vowel as birth     as threaded
song     did you peel the sung of heaven’s ceiling?

the poem makes exception
rule     the creed of gift
crasses by unsung as we
collect mistakes     hoof
prints of past songly
cast as exceptions     which
the poem rends     to correct

the sunken star

the sunken star
let me know     the

grazen palm
root     the banished

star     whose time had
run      the sunken

tepid humless star
whose time began

with the rootless
par     come leg this

withered washed unspun
roar     the banished

star     whose wicked warp
has thanked     begun

let me know why each
vessel woofed my edgeless

bark     the sunken star
each starless known

unsound decimals

unsound decimals     grounded off error
arouse groundswell     sweet horror smell
of now –

bring us the tidings of another glad!
of when the night was green     of

each eye stood in closeted lines and
participated     of when the night was
green –

The day we ran into Anthony Bourdain….(albeit with some reservations)

munira's bubble

….was the day Israel began to bomb the hell out of Lebanon in earnest, in July 2006.

Huz was on a ‘mission’, and Amu and I tagged along as I was very eager to see what all the fuss was about as far as Beirut was concerned, ‘Paris of the East’ and all that jazz. Not to mention the taouk sandwiches that Huz raved about from the last couple of times he’d been there.

Needless to say, I fell in love with the place, and most of all, the people. The Lebanese are just gorgeous if you ask me. Beautifully skinned, beautifully dressed (skimpy for women for a country in the Middle East, I thought) and I loved the way they spoke Arabic…and French. Hearing my own name being pronounced by an Arabic speaker was pure pleasure, and considering I wear my heart on my sleeve, I merrily proceeded to…

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stem of artifice

an unchantable repose, growth of wrongform, stem of the artifice of weft, mismatches of vice

make room for me o woofer of words, works
make night my tryst of deed

my word, my void speaks no tale of false but itself –

“How should you treat a bird?
As yourself
Or as a bird?” – Excerpt from Chuang Tsu’s “Symphony for a sea bird” translated by Thomas Merton.

time as friend

It takes two heavens to dismantle
a grave

the error of one contributes to
the shame

of the other    the other where
the pain

of green abounds    it takes two

one should know    the clouds seem

enough    the error of one is but
lost time

the kindness of simple folk

ready word

leaf of the wind’s say    turning
which way?

kindred of the folksy tune turning
this soon

away from time’s distress turning
subtle I

– the whoosh of wanting to be I –
kind of –