"you are killing me. you have bones but dont know it. a spine but dont show it. where are you throwing, the meat that you eat the dead tees are hungry for more dead flesh. where are you going? you ave billing Me. YOu have bones but dour know \t. aspine but dont show! it. weve ave you tnvowiwa tne weal {Vr You eat ‘ne es ave dead Wve ow worecontracts into a fist the heart is a lonely hunter but i am coming for you in the midst, said you'd be back in a minute, Forget it. Now you are in the concrete block bereft, sailor, you hated when i told your story but now whose words are left? sometimes only the broken know how to be an angel My daughter is talking to me, the dust storms rattle the trees against the windows, she keeps asking ‘me questions that i cant answer why is it purple what is music what is wrong the wave you are riding is crashing into me. I am more questions than answers. more more breath than body . Love letters angry letters disappointed letters, your letters are digital sparkles flashing across the black black sky, if i keep writing letters to you, will they keep you alive? you asked me once, you dont believe i have a soul? No, you are one, You said you wouldnt steal from me again. You said. And then you walked out of my room with a shard of a promise. Cause you cant break something thats already a million pieces on the floor.Could the birds fly on sand storms, rack against the building, and crash into the office heater. Burn their feathers. And sing a song of joy- red roses onthe bed, the pink patie on the mattress bleeding off the edges, YO° fingerprints srthe carpet, the traces of your breath on the mirror when you check your image. So vain. You can tell from the details. Look through the keyhole, tum gold into sand into stone the road. ‘These are the left over images after a dozen and on the ground. Ginger tea in the morning. Marijuana on the desk. Dresses slung over the chair. All waiting f and throw it at the dead bodies beside poems and photographs run through my fingers for your glass of coffee, othman papers, shoes under the closet Could your love still be here hiding under a fly away paper? The tee scrapes against thecupid blue light peaks into the windows at night and calls up the spirits of the awakened and hits the chest like an arrow eye of the sparrow. it moves on. somewhere there are birds hungry hunting dead leaves. somewhere the stars are nuclear bombs flying into the india ink sky. somewhere you are the pauper prince the aquamarine paint on the back of a canvas call ita sea but you ‘cant swim in it so spray paint it gold and ask for my words to make your paper heart whole. somewhere there room where am hui oo lke you bite my lips when the skins chapped and rub my hands when they are cold and hope thatthe stars havent changed positions and can find my way home somewhere there isa letter that says, this is where i belong. . somewhere i am pulling the arrow out and you are pushing inside of me. grey shadows on,the sun half a red pil like a broken valentine a ‘green beer a cream yellow table a black nail a hammer for a tongue. ‘lonely place but at least paper valentine hears float by like trash on the nile, &0M &on &on.On waiting for your lover in prison and other private rituals of the 21* century my only time in jail was the week before obama's inauguration. they say hope is an aphrodisiac falling out of love beer glass next to lighter, plastic beads in one hand, pen in the other. flip a lucky in the back of the pack , shoo a fly away with a burning tip inhale let the soul slip i flip three coins ask who will my lover be once he emerges from the other side/ still pay attention to this little lady who used to write poems about suicide? My eyes open to charred face, following the sky, lets make an adventure cause this morning we ride the wind, its our fate Hearts break when you use them as bait, trying to catch the sun cause the sun always escapes the black bars of paradise call to prayer sends me a text message, look out your window. its one more sunriseNo god but ghosts when you think of me think balance crescent moon recitations, the final hours of sleep ‘my arm covering my mouth and you peeling me away dropping this carcass on the floor, i want fo hear you, you groan before you catch that last bus to the horizon stretching like a rosary a cross and skull counting out the days til you return ‘me, dust slamming against the trees yout soul as thin as paper leavesa) 0 Gites land other private rituals of the 21st century, ‘maiamedicine @gmail.com cairo, egypt guerrillamamamedicine.wordpress.com