There has never been such a good time to be alive: Fascism digging in like gangrene, the earth abused, Rolling over to die, the work laid out like a feast.
The piss-stained schizophrenic at the curb holds high A steaming dainty-plate. Is he not a mother's son? Am I not mother enough to swallow his feast?
Why do I choke on soldiers?– Lick those babies clean Of fear. My belly grows — is it big enough yet To hold Washington? Feast within feast within feast!
Only war gets poets in the door here: Basho Hid in a body bag. Rumi showed up early — You should have seen hell coming when he served you his feast.
'My turban is worth two cents,' he said, a sly Loss leader. Now his tattered coat will cost you all The oil in Araby; his boots, your four-star feast.
Your bloated souls are starving, pounding at the door. Napa wine won't get you drunk. You've bombed the tavern Flat with greed. Now you'll have to come outside to feast!
Poetry reading: San Jose, Thursday November 4, 2005, 7:30pm Zara Houshmand, Persis Karim and Katayoon Zandvakili will read and discuss poetry at the Martin Luther King Jr. library between Fourth and San Fernando streets in downtown San Jose. For details click here.