n lungs, growing
up, wrapping around
knotting with nerves,
veins reaching
for the rest of me.

pulling me apart.

inside I am old
ancient, crumbling
building with shattered
stained glass windows
bursting panes, bats
in my eaves, dust clinging
to surfaces stirred
with breezes rattling
around my bones.

beautiful.

Boundless dusk above forsaken intuitions
Stones with ancient seeds
Yet the roots can breathe
The earthly exuberance                                                       ­                       
The naked secret of our song
That manipulates my tounge
Redden from you and I
The contract of our lips
Simulating my hunger for your groin
The nerves of my vertebrates  harbor your weight
As my breast shudder from your touch
Primal delicious desires
I thirst for  the fluids of your flesh

With nurture and greed
I moisten your fingers
Help you find my sensitive  pearl
Relishing the trail of the garden of youth
Primal delicious desires explode in need
Delicate softness of my mystical place
Lifting my body with much response
As my fingers dance, pinch and prod at my peaks
Repeatedly as you   seduce me
I gasp and beg for your caress
I shudder as I chase my wave
Reaching as I whimper into a climax

Simulating my hunger for your groin
Inflaming my pores
I enlarge you ever so slow
Working my hands holding you from behind
One swift lick of your rigid flesh
You pull in a lungful of air
Your hot flesh started to grow
I ease you into my mouth
Circling as you keep the pace
Against me you put me in deep
The sweet taste of you makes me weak
Intense intervals underneath
Between your thighs

Intoxicating the very layers of my juice
I enlarge you once again
Moist and ready
I open my sweetness just for you
As I arch down onto you
Your hands rest on my hips
I begin to feel my flower grow
Whispering shallowly from my lungs
We flow inside each another
Deeper in my heat
Your aggressive arousal
Provoking me to quiver
The barrier surrenders to you and I
Vivid blossoms of tranquil harmony
Through the gateway of my womanhood


As you nurish the nutrients you covet for
My protruding pale pink buds
Plump with need
I'd hollow out to place you inside
I'd linger in this universe to pave your delicious desire
As you surrender  pushing me down
You penetrate my mouth once again
As you reclaim my mouth soft and pink

It sickens me
To think that my ancestors were raped
By greasy, shaggy men from the north
Who burned down their houses
And pilfered their precious possessions
It sickens me
To think that I am but the last domino
In a centuries long trail of bastards
It sickens me
To think that my father is a bastard
His father was a bastard
And all my children will be bastards
And it sickens me
To think that I am so proud of that fact

Within my polluted veins may be found
Perhaps only one drop of foreign blood
But that drop of blood is from an ancient heathen deity
The years have diluted it but still it fills me
With a blissful rage, my poisoned skin tingles
With the most wonderful of furies
With every beat of my tainted heart the capacity
To duel with giants and annihilate armies
Resonates around my body
I feel I have the power to rend heaven
And lacerate the landscape of hell
With just my adulterated fingernails
Because I am the pink diamond
In the pile of precious stones
I’m impure, and I’m worth nothing to the masses
But I’m just as indomitable as my kin

So if any of my fellow white men
Strut round claiming to be pure, know this:
I will take a torch to your hall, hew your head
From your chauvinistic shoulders, and hang it
From my gateway as a warning to those who dare to disbelieve
That we are all somebody’s bastard

They are forever frozen,
reaching, stretching
towards the skies above.

They are told they
can touch the stars,
just out of reach.

Armies of them are placed
together -- frozen in the battle
to achieve their goal.

Wars are fought, lives lost
seasons past, years fly
they stand there - forever frozen.

Some are as ancient as the
stars themselves,
others are born into the world
with this impossible task.

They are imprisoned
by the earth
but still reach for the stars:
Soldiers
Prisoners
Trees.

Life is more than just time
It's more of poem with less of a rhyme.

Sky blue, trees brown, grass green....
You know what I mean?
Maybe it's not coming out right...trying to explain the meaning of life
But like.....who's knows what it is?
I do.
And the answer is:

This space is just for experience.
30 to 90 years of just feeling it.
Doing the things that you need to do,
and giving things back instead of just stealing shit.

You walk through the world just learning.
I sit in class just yearning,
"I need to be out there and I want to see."
My thought wheels keep turning.
And I try to be more than just one...
Because we weren't put on this world just for fun.
No.
We are here for a reason.

But even that's hard to believe because we're suffering treason.
High.
Like the kids these days.
Playing with fire
"You snaze, you laze."

But I digress.
Now, what was I talking about? Oh yeah,
PRESS!
Printing these stories about celebrities who quite frankly,
Just don't mean shit to me.
I mean, shouldn't we be focusing on something else for a change?
How about how the earth's climate has changed?

There are animals who are dying,
Their kind is shrinking.
Oh, and the water level is rising...
And we are still sinking.

Looks like no one is gonna build us a boat
So we all might have to hold onto our breath
And float on...like that band said.
"To be or not to be." Like that man said.
Right? Because our generation is so "stupid"
We have nothing to show because we don't do shit?

Well you just wait and see.
And for that you'll need patience and tenacity.
How about another subject? cause we have plenty of time.
A few years i'd say, but no...that won't fit in the rhyme.
So how about the mind?
It's a brilliant thing.
It controls us all like an ancient king.

Like for example, King Tut.
And i'd go on but you know what?
I just remembered I was talking about life, am I right?
It's already dark out, and as it turns out, I don't have all night.
So i'm going to leave you with this little piece.
And out of everything this is what i'd like you to take with you, please,
People don't get through it easy
L-I-F-E.

But we are strong.
I mean, we're on top...right where we belong.
So really just...do what you gotta do.
I know the advice may be disappointing
But it's all that you'll need, dude.
As long as you do the things that you need
You have nothing to worry about and you will succeed.

So i guess life really ain't much
We talk and maybe think of it as such
But
You know what, forget all the rhymes.
Maybe life really is just...nothing but time.

Mopeds, Mercedes
Dandelions and daisies
Churches
Mosques
Women masked
Exposed eyes
Revealing
More than the body
Ever could.
Lingerie
Sold openly on the street
Olives
By the kilogram
To fast-talking
Fast-walking
Men and women
Young and old.
Ancient ruins,
Ruined
The fall of one civilization
Destroyed
Merely to give rise
To one that will
Only hope to make men
Worth remembering.
Mystery lies
In the lives of artifacts
Bare finger tips
Graze over frescoes
Religion
Art
Expression
Litters every corner
Accompanied by waste
And poppies
Blood red
Amidst the gray haze
Of cigarette smoke
And pollution
Clouding the view
Of snowcapped mountains
Diamond lakes
Undisturbed
Surrounded by
Mopeds, Mercedes
Dandelions and Daisies

He is ancient steadfast
I am sure he was here when the world was created
I am sure he will be here when it ends
His gentle face carved with hard lines
He poured forth knowledge in his native Persian tongue
He called me Shohre
I learned it was his sister's name
He looked at me like a granddaughter and treated me just as sweet

“Ghabl az enghalab...”
Before the revolution...
After which would follow painful reminiscing of
The days before the current regime
When wine bubbled out from Shiraz
Men and women danced late into the night
And soft voices wove love songs in street cafes

“Ghabl az enghalab moalem dar daneshgah boodam.”
Before the revolution I was a university professor.
“Yeki az daneshjooyanam Ahmedinejad bood.”
One of my students was Ahmedinejad.
And in English, clear as hate,
“He was a bastard.”

One night I stayed back for extra lessons
We ate cherries from Costco and
Read excerpts from his autobiography
Pages crafted from right to left, vignettes of
His military service in Mashhad
And consequent teaching career

“Ba'ad az enghalab...”
After the revolution...
Was always followed with war stories
Political dissidents lost to Evin prison
Sharia law imposed on moderate minds
Escaping Iran by night with a phony visa

“Ba'ad az enghalab dar ketabkhane bayad kar konam”
After the revolution I had to work in the library.
“Khoastam yad bedahm, pas man o zanam be Amrika raftim.”
I wanted to teach, so my wife and I came to America.
He has not been home since 1981.

On December third of 2009 he walked smugly into the classroom
Setting a tape player happily on a desk.
He opened a folder from right to left
Produced a well-worn cassette
And played Happy Birthday, in Persian, for me.
He smiled at me with hands folded throughout the song
As I’d imagine he had smiled at
All the other special women in his life named Shohre.

He never played Happy Birthday for any of the other students.
Or gave them cherries,
Or went to their weddings,
Or held them while they cried when their grandfather died.
I do not know what he saw in me
But in each other we found family years and miles away from home.