cigarette butts on the ashtray;
suddenly the wind forcibly opened the window.
Ash particles began to trip into my eyes-
'blindness!'. No, just an experimentation w/ it...
& the wind was still sharpening its scalpels
(for more intrusion)
similar to the blind, they like us/
dissimilar to the blind, they like us.
They love experimenting w/ our eyes/sight,
& above all                             w/ all of our senses,
But I still love the wind.
Unlike them, the wind trips into our eyes
w/ out experimentation
w/ circumlocution,
extending its hands through (our) thin hairy threads
like a skilled tailor.

         & if there was no programmed cell
          would that mean there was something else
          uncontrolled self-destruction, because
          are some people who are not well-
          in apoptosis, & their
          of destruction is only governed by
          exorbitance, & this is what draws them
          into the orbits of
          & those orbits could be their cemeteries,
          because extremism is not well-versed in
                        that magnetic theory of

a lively chant
remnants of ruined tombs
don't have epitaphs,
commemoration is a matter
of memory
but behind the scrim
the buzzing flies of death
are reciting an improvised
a lively chant
against memory
calcification [reaching towards a silent audience]

une image noire
on a black tree/a small crow
on a black barrel/a big crow
irritated by the phos[phat]ic wind
their wings spewed all the feathers
Black feathers Black feathers
Black feathers Black feathers
Black feathers Black feathers
Black feathers Black feathers
smitten w/ the bare wings
                  black clouds began
their seduction work,
& their first gift to the bare wings,
                  a black mantle
of rain
before the night wakes up to make
the first morning coffee,

    Ali Znaidi 2012