3 poemes

Basra 1986

Among dust storms
rising offshore
there is a specific attrition

Rusty oil tankers aim
bows at sunset's burning edge

Large stone stands
accepted by wind's whisper
of smaller historical elements

Casualties wait patiently
for a hand to skip them
homeward

Solders' swollen feet
approach water border rendezvous,
waiting tanks spitting fire
baking flat Arabic bread

Mother bends her way past bodies,
looking for a son
in twilight's final gesture of futility

The wholeness becomes
an attribute of attrition

+

I want
the world
and it will not fit in my mouth
and I am not amused by many things
at this particular moment

and I want what I want
and I want it now and I don’t want anything
to get in my way

I am so full
I cannot swallow more sorrow

+

Don’t worry
you will forget
all my words and pictures
sent by telepathy
soon enough