They think i'm ******
but i'm not ******
they stole my *****
and my sisters
and my african friends
they ate all my tarab songs
In a day and a night
"Fi youm we leila"
I never tasted the sweetness of love.
Oh lily my lily
my love machine
my war machine
Life isn't an american movie
we move out when we're 18.
youre trying to recreate history.
And you have to admit it
You wanna make love to me?
I never watched ****;
And I don't like watching
Gay people kissing in movies
It's too existential
Like Cubain's music,
Like writing poetry
In an opera house.
You know the effect of halls cough drops on my chest,
Cold, refreshing, and acrid.
This is how I feel about you.
If you forget me
And forget the hollows
Of my birds,
Don't look for me
Let the oceans burn your emptiness
And your ankle and the air.
Let it be in the middle of October,
The middle of my fragility and yours.
She had the morning long songs
And the English happy odes on August.
She almost died young by the sea.
Yet the death was kept in wilderness
Where summer rises and autumn fades
In orb of fears.
O dearest summer of morrow!
Quench the gloomy fire inside me
May you live longer and crown
The throne of life.
Fly, fly, fly
Half seen, half naked in Eden
Use your artless language,
Your sea breeze, your childhood gifts
Dope me, wall me
I am no longer dead.
It was my 55th birthday
And tomorrow is my 69th
No doubt I bring but purity
As a weak nosegay
Writing my history on a blank page
And gazing into the evenings
Like old face of Austin and books.
O bless my celestial sunny hours
Till their minds remember this divine birth.
I saw you once, a long time ago
and felt as we met in our lives elsewhere.
I tried to sing but I stuttered
And could noway pronounce the word liberta
As you like people to pronounce it.
I killed all the airs then and sank
In the sounding of your voice.
I was frightened to explore you,
As well as the thousand little nerves
inside my heart.
You were walking on my stanzas
Soundless just as your plastic bags of tobacco
And i was pretending triteness
Telling you about how picasso met Fernand olivier
We were pure as a soft morning breeze
You and I where we came from?
Are we from the murmuring of the mid-sea swell?
Or the wall where scarlet windows burn?
Or hope or calm
Or wisdom of the East!!