1.

From our
safe windows,
we crane our necks,
rubbernecking
past the slow
motion wreckage
unfolding in Homs.

We remain
perfectly
perched
to marvel at
the elegant arc of
a mortar shell
framing tomorrows
deep horizon,
whistling through
the twilight to
find its fruitful
mark.

In the now
we keep
complicit time,
to the arrest
of beating hearts,
snapping fingers
to the pop
of rifle cracks,
swooning to
the delicious
intoxication of
curling smoke
lofting ever
upward;
yet
thankfully
remain
distant
enough to
recuse any
possibility
of an
intimate
nexus
with the
besieged.

2.

From our
safe windows,
we behold the
urgent arrivals of
The Friends of Syria
demanding
clean sheets
and 4 Star
room service at a
Tunisian Palace
recently cleaned
and under new
management
promising a
much needed
refurbishment.

The gathered,
a clique of
this epochs
movers and shakers,
a veritable
rouges gallery of
ambassadorial
prelates, Emirs and
state department
bureaucrats
summoned
with portfolio
from the
darkest corners
of the globe.

They are
eager to
sanctify
the misery
of Homs,
deflect and
lay blame
with realpolitik
rationalizations,
commencing
official commissions
of inquiry,
deliberating
grave considerations,
issuing indictments
of formal charges for
Crimes Against
Humanity
while
remaining
urgently
engrossed
in the fascination
of interviewing
potential
process servers
to deliver the bad news
to Bashar al-Assad
and his soulless
Baathist
confederates,
if papers
are to be
served.

Yes, the diplomats
are busy meeting
in closed rooms.

In hushed circles
they whisper
into aroused ears,
railing against
Russia’s
gun running
intransigence
and China’s
geopolitical
chess moves.

Statesmen
boast of the
intrepid justice
of tipping points
and the moving poetry
of self serving tales,
weighing the impact
of stern sanctions
amidst the historical
confusion of the
asymmetrical
symmetries
of civil war.

Caravans
of Arab League
envoys roll up
in silver Bentleys,
crossing deserts
of contradictory
obfuscations,
navigating the
endless dunes
with hand held
sextants of
hidden agendas.

The heroic
Bedouins are
eager to offload
their baggage
and share
on the ground
intelligence from
their recent soirées
across Syria.

They beg
a quick fix,
the triage of a
critical catharsis
to bleed their
brains dry
of heinous
recollections,
pleading
release from a
troubled conscience
victimized by
the unnerving paradox
of reconciling
discoveries of
perverse voyeurism
with the sanctioned
explanations
of their respective
ruling elites.

The bellies
of these
scopophiliacs
are distended;
grown queasy
from a steady diet
of malfeasance
an ulcerated
world parades
in continuous loop;
spewing the raw feeds
of real time misery;
forcibly fed
the grim
visions of
frantic
fathers
rushing
the mangled
carcases
of mortally
wounded
children
to crumpled
piles of smashed
concrete that were
once hospitals.

We despondently
ask how
much longer
must we
look into
the eyes
of starving
children
emaciated from
the wanton
indifference
of the world?


3.

From our
safe windows
we wonder
how much
longer can
the urgent
burning
ambivalence
continue
before it
consumes
our common
humanity in
a final
conflagration?

My hair already
singed by the
endless firestorms
sweeping the prairies
of the world.

How can we survive
the trampling hoards,
the marauding
plagues of acrimony
fed by a voracious
blood lust aspiring to
victimize the people
of Homs and a
thousand cities
like it?


4.

From my safe
window I stand in witness
to the state execution of
refugees fleeing the
living nightmare
of Baba Amr.

The ****** of innocents,
today's newly minted martyrs,
women and children
cornered, trapped
on treacherous roads,
mercilessly
slaughtered and
defiled in death
to mark the lesson
of a ruthless master
enthralled with the
power of his
sadistic fascist
lordship.

I cannot avert my eyes
marking sights
of pleading women
begging for the
lives of their children
in exchange for
the gratification
of a sadists
lust.

My heart
is impaled
on the sharp
spear of
outrage
beholding
careening
children mowed
down with the
serrated blades
protruding
from marauding
jeeps of laughing
soldiers.

I drop
to my knees
in lakes of
tears
reflecting
a grotesque
horror stricken
image of myself.

My eyes have
murdered my soul.

The ghastly images
of Homs have chased
away my Holy Ghost
to the safety of a child's
sandbox hidden away
in a long forgotten
revered memory.


5.

From my safe window
I seethe with anger
demanding vengeance,
debating how to rise
to meet the obscenity of
the Butcher of Damascus.

The sword of Damocles
dangles so tantalizingly close
to this tyrants throat.  

The covered women
of Homs scream prayers
“may Allah bring Bashar to ruin”

Dare I pray
that Allah trip the
horsehair trigger
that holds the
sword at bay?

Do I pick up
the sword
a wield it
as an
avenging
angel?

Am I the
John Brown
of our time?

Do I organize
a Lincoln Brigade
and join the growing
leagues of jihadists
amassing at the
Gates of Damascus?

Will my righteous
indignation fit well
in a confederacy
with Hamas and
al-Qaeda as my
comrades in arms?

Do I succumb to
the passion of hate
and become just
another murderous
partisan, or do I
commend the power
of love and marshal
truth to speak with
the force of
satyagraha?

I lift a fervent prayer
to claim the justice
of Allah’s ear,
“may the knowing one
lift the veil of foolishness
that covers my heart in
cloaks of resent, cure
my blindness that ignores
my raging disease of
plausible deniability
ravaging the body politic
of humanity.”

6.

Indeed,
physician heal thyself.

I run to embrace my
illness.

I pine to understand it.

I undertake the
difficult regimen
of a cure to eradicate
the terrible affliction.

This
pernicious
plague,
subverting
the notion
of a shared
humanness
is a cunning
sedition that
undermines
the unity of
the holy spirit.  

The bell from
the toppled steeples
still tolls, echoing
across the space of
continents and eons
of temporal time.

The faithful chimes
gently chides us
to remove the wedge
of perception that
separates, divides
and undermines.

Time has come
to liberally
apply the balm
that salves the
open wounds
so common to
our common
human condition.

The power of prayer
is the joining of hands
with others racked
with the common
affliction of humanness.

Allah,  
My eyes are wide open,
my sacred heart revealed,
my sleeves are rolled up,
my memory is stocked,
my soul filled with resolve,
my hand is lifted
extended to all
brothers and sisters.
Lift us,
gather us
into one
loving embrace.

Selah


7.

From the safe
windows of
our palaces
we live within
earshot of
the trilling
zaghroutas
of exasperation
flowing from
the besieged
city smouldering
under Bashar’s
symphony of terror.

Our nostrils
fill with the
acrid plumes
of unrequited
lamentations
lifting from the
the burning
destruction
of shelled
buildings.

Our eyes spark
from the night
tracers
of sleeking
snipers
flitting along
the city’s
rooftops.

The deadly jinn
indiscriminately
inject the
paralysis of
random fear
into the veins
of the city
with each
skillful
head shot.

These
ghoulish
assassins
lavish in their
macabre work;
like vultures
they eagerly
feast on the
corpses of their ****,
the stench of bloated
bodies drying in the
sun is the perfume
that fills their nostrils.


8.

From our
safe window
we discern the
silhouettes of militants
still boldly standing
amidst the
mounting rubble of an
unbowed Homs
shouting;

Allah Akbar!!!
Allah Akbar!!!
Allah Akbar!!!

raising pumped fists,
singing songs
of resistance,
dancing to
the revelation of
freedom,
refusing to
be coward by
the slashing
whips of a
butchers
terrible
sword.


9.

From my
safe window
my tongue laps
the pap
of infants
suckling from
the depleted
teats of mothers
who cannot cry
for their dying
children;
tears fail
to well from
the exhaustion
of dehydrated
pools.

10.

From my
safe window
my heart stirs
to the muezzin
calling the
desperate faithful
from the toppled
rubble of dashed
minarets.

We can
no longer
shut our ears
to the adhan
of screams
the silent
voices that echo
the blatant injustice
of a people under siege.


11.

From my
safe window,
I pay
Homage to Homs
and call brothers
and sisters to rise
with vigilant
insistence
that hostilities
cease and
humanity be
upheld,
respected and
protected.


12.

From my safe
window
I perceive
the zagroutas
of sorrow
manifest as a
whiling hum,
a sweeping
blue mist,
levitating
the coffins
from the rubble
of ravaged streets.

The swirling
chorus of
mourning
joins my
desperate
prayers;
rising in
concert
with the
black billows
of smoke
dancing
away
from the
flaming
embers
of scorched
neighborhoods.


13.

From my
safe window
I heed
the fluttering
wings
of avenging
angels
furiously
batting
as they
climb
the black
plumes,
lifting from
the scattered bricks
of the desecrated
city.

It is the
Jacob’s
Ladder
for our
time;
marking
a new
consecrated
place
where
a New Adam
is destined
to be formed
from the
pulverized
stones of
desolation.

14.

From our
safe windows
we peer into
resplendent
mirrors
beholding
the perfect image of
ourselves
eying
falling tears
dripping blood,
coloring death
onto the
blanched sheets
of disheveled beds.


15.

From our
safe windows
our voices are silenced,
our words mock urgency
our thoughts betray comprehension
our senses fail to illicit empathy
our action is the only worthy prayer


16.

From my
safe window
I hear the
mortar shells
walking toward
my little palace,
the crack
of a ******
shot
precedes
the wiz of a
passing bullet
whispering
its presence
into my
waxen
ear.


17.

From my
safe window,
my palms scoop
the rich soil
of the flower boxes
perched on my sill.
I anoint the tender
green shoots of  the
Arab Spring
with an incessant flow
of bittersweet tears.

Music selection:
John Coltrane
A Love Supreme
Acknowledgment

Oakland
2/28/12
jbm

Unidentified Flying Obfuscations

Our Texas government plans to censor our books
                    (But look at the bright shiny UFOs)
Our newspapers are falling like autumn leaves
                    (But look at the bright shiny UFOs)

Our border is guarded by barbed wire and floaties
                    (But look at the bright shiny UFOs)
Our TV channels tell us what to think
                    (But look at the bright shiny UFOs)

Our senators are beyond their sell-by dates
                    (But look at the bright shiny UFOs)
Our representatives are puerile *****-mouths
                    (But look at the bright shiny UFOs)

Our children are shot dead in our schools and streets
                    (But Congress holds hearings on UFOs)

MY OWN PRIVATE PRESIDENT TRUMP

Oh the lies lies and ****
statistics of you!

You tell a better lie
than I can tell the honest truth.

"I didn't say that...I never
said that!"

The Trump...the whole Trump and
nothing but the Trump.

So - help me God!

The outright lies of you
the half-truths...evasions...obfuscations

the lie so
see-through

the Russians have a word
for it - VRANYO.

That is to tell a lie that you do not
expect anyone to believe

the totally transparent
told purely to save face.

Although you do do - LOZH
the straightforward lie.

Or  MASKIROVKA
the "little masquerade."

The Salisbury Cathedral
Spire of you.

The fake news
of you.

Well listen Buddy
I can't spare a mind.

And I've just quit
this friendship.

the sky was lilac and
blurred with the
pale obfuscations of
clouds;

opaque and formless, you sharpened
the horizon
and i thought of remembering.

I wake from sleep and I fear.
It’s like the years did not happen
And clapping my hands for light
Doesn’t dispel the long nights
When the fights still went on
And dawn didn’t erase the war
For the world is at it again
Men hating other men over skin
And ****** is no longer a sin
If it is done with flags waving.

The raving of insane rulers
Revelers in hate and genocide
Have again set aside the gods,
The ones they swear about
And shouted down all opposition
Taking the position it's fine to ****
And still claim the victims are godless
And the murderers are good.
Why don't they question any evil
That doesn’t cavil at hypocrisy
But jealously protects its power
And rains down hour after hour
Of lies and obvious obfuscations
To nations powerless to stop them?

Whims of evil men should be taken
As words to be shaken off, ignored
As if from bored, evil childish brats,
Not taking off of hats and bowing,
Plowing under civil rights like weeds
And laughing at the needs of the weak.
Speak up before it’s too late to deny
That kind of guy respectability!
We still have the ability, the right.
Fight so we don’t become **** Germany.
Don’t let that be our national destiny.

It crawls
It stalls
It falls

Truth, buried deep
Lucid, asleep
Answers to keep
A journey, steep

Reverse time
Unwound rhyme
Lies to dine
Answers to find

It's there, everything you seek
These obfuscations reek
Behind the expressions of the meek
A spectacle, disillusion the weak

Dig
Dig
Dig

It's there, just waiting
Truth, casually abating
Under a pile of consecrating
The explanation not stating

So close
So lost

Go deeper!
I can't say more

From the hexagon, everything is dimensioned on the peaks that can be seen in the starry nights from the curved kilometers of Bethlehem. Everything goes on top of the Desert Mountains and valleys, above the vagueness of climatic heights and landslides of an entire believing community and its followers. In twelve camels they advance, of which the first six are exclusive to the Birthright, and then the seventh Giga camel is from King David of Bethlehem.

The beams are part of the architectural support of the physical-ethereal God and his ethereal-physical word, supposedly of advent and in grazing of the strengths and anomalies of secrets of a new Aramaic message advanced with the vigor of insects and birds that were grouped in the journey that goes back and forth. The Beams are stars of heaven sustained by the Cherubim and the Archangels, through the paths of conversion and the support of the Christian time; haughty and implacable hegemony for the propaedeutics of phylogeny, but more so, in the very chemistry of creation carrying its winged Lepidoptera tetra, the pheromones and obfuscations of a nascent and elemental child in his own evangelical philosophy from a dimensionality between swords and The gloom of a Kafersesuh shouted Manger, before the compendiums of two pyramidal landmarks of the inflection of his word in the animals created in the world and animalia, personalizing muleteers carriers of pollinations and all the generational language that is so concealed far, as are the turns in the musks and their legitimacies of the Baptistery of the Shepherds in Ein Karem, parabolizing the nomenclature and polygonia of a child made man, already being one!, but representing himself as a lifeless man in the fullness of a child of an advantageous canon.

The Kabbalistic engineering of the one-dimensionality of length and breadth adds slack to the rejoicing hours of Joshua's time in the manger, giving the auxiliary dimension perpendicular to the deck of the Kafersesuh, which appeared to be in a two-horse cart, ready to be transported. towards a predominant horizontal, making tension with the itchiness of the visual in perspective of pulled establishment and compression effort of the infant in the corral, observed the results of the cops, which varied the volume of their appreciations when moving away as animal feed, towards the same nourishing for men, characterizing bedroom body volumization and reducing their body stretching them by means of their eyes. Before the company of the shepherds, Mariah and Joseph, they supported him towards the superlative of the bending moments close to him, twisting and changing their squeezing pressure on the cords that forged his path towards the cornices and trusses of the upper celestial vault, where he was the shed of doubts next to the cherubs. Giving mechanics to the prism that arched the beams in the horizontal lines, taking them towards the amplitude of other lines, which remained solid before the variation, suspecting to mutate to one of sudden two-dimensionality. The sections of the timber framing looked fatigued before the primary classification, which demonstrated the attitude of the little Messiah by bringing out its beams and rolling in other pillars, postponing the tangential vectors, contributing bits of rhomboid specialties, which blurred the field amplitude cylinders vision of all who remained in his nativity. Making straight glances so as not to be distracted and adore him with a wide and rectilinear heart, which in its transversality made them visualize for all in the one-dimensional crossed wood, which in its geometry schematizes letters and numbers of kabbalah, which differ in the dissimilar resistance of their ambivalence Christic, as anticipation of martyrdom on the tree of Golgotha. This foreshadowed his abilities to read them in the Torah and Zohar, gathering everything into one whole of those vivid tormenting lapses that he felt in advance, as reversible entropy, giving back his life to prepare them for the day of his abolished martyrdom.

In a jiffy for a moment ..., the bending of the One-Dimensional Beam separated from the inertia in bending voids, specifying the exact spatiality of the beams selected one with the other millimetrically, making the vertical ones, of which carols were still chanting penetrating into the corners of the ponderous ears of the donkeys, like braces of Hebraic trusses in the last breath that was written with symbols of their Aramaic gaze and capricious matron hood, a comparison of Queen Apollonian reflected in Mariah, who appeared era and credibly identified in her typology, gifted in the clothing of the second century BC, having to be associated in the divinity of Aphrodite, for the usual lineage of Vernarth, pigeonholing him in a Hellenistic aspect, pre-existing in patronage characteristics as a representative figure of male and female of Ptolemaic Egypt, as a great icon of religiosity coexisting as a priestess of the female order in Greek rituals together or Him.  Making inseparable the preeminence of mother and child, as a unilateral gender, and as a substantial element for the social and political order that reigned in the ancient era. Lying here the unilateral gender is indispensable for the social and political order, which is substantiated at the dawn of the empires of the time, and the patriarchal society. Symbolically Joshua in this cogitabundant providence, adds the feminine value in the society in the Kafersesuh tent of the Judah manger, dispensing mainly to women, taking her ties of demigod heroine in the powers of benevolence and of matriarchal fertile posterity, as the Eden of the Living Language ”.

A great Zohar light, gathered all towards a whole in those errors that Joshua felt in advance, as reversible entropy, giving back his wise existence to prepare them for the day of his sacrifice. Pre Existing in catharsis and substance of divinity connected with the phylogenetic species, classifying up to an Aramaic pontificate of pheromones settled in the lithospheric site of Gethsemane, in a biological sense and in close coincidence in the lapse wading, or in the phenomenological simultaneity of Eukaryote and from Glaucophyta to late Animalia, giving parental relationship in the characters of the vibrational timbre of the Beams and the atavistic pedestal, readapting in the evolutionary elliptical of winged tetra species.  Allowing changing ancestral linguistic accoutrements in processes of redesigning the divine genetic historical tree and increasing anomalies in the human and non-human anthropomorphic earthly culture, in a reviving profanity of fruitive frequency amplitudes, for those who resort to it, monopolizing synchronicity in the diachronic of their specimens. The lights of Joshua's gazes are the Light of Life and Christian Time, in the entity of Joshua born and lifeless from the nature of Child-Man, but of mortal design in the same compulsion to see him in luminescence in a life of the Kafersesuh manger and only of ethereal unity. Being in exemption from Ego with his structure of a living child and a dead man, he rushes rebellious and ostentatious in the architecture of the One-dimensional Beams, giving up the glimpse of his aforementioned progenitor "Eye versus Eye", seeing himself like this ..., son hovering in the arteries of a Universal-Duoversal life, from a single dimension of cyclical unidimensional length, encompassing conjectures and biological, the symbolic-allegorical conception of extreme co-divinity, as the exclusive precept of the delicate infinity of the Being of a Messiah, with paraphrases or glosses of exegetical affinity Aramaic, tracing from a linguistic period. Here are the conditionalities of the Olive Berna transfigured into everlasting orality and refractory syllable, to incubate eternal rabbinic gifts of perpetual reluctance, beyond the reach of the ego-annihilating will and of ultra-affections of inert apathy and miraculous phenomena, understanding that the language is born and dies being reborn empathic ..., idem as a neighbor of well revived and also, in the same way, emitting himself alive and reborn in his anarchy, for the subsequent splendor and theological gibberish, with thunderous loans and phantasmagoric elixir, except for limited magnets on the Lemurs, with double codes of duplicity and bene-malignant spectra, adducing words in which to reside for languages to destroy and vice versa, insecure states of chrysalis in those Olives Berna fruits, as gastro-larvae of great living genus and their seasons in "Beams turned into tongues of magnetic iron"

MY OWN PRIVATE PRESIDENT TRUMP

Oh the lies lies and ****
statistics of you!

You tell a better lie
than I can tell the honest truth.

"I didn't say that...I never
said that!"

The Trump...the whole Trump and
nothing but the Trump.

So - help me God!

The outright lies of you
the half-truths...evasions...obfuscations

the lie so
see-through

the Russians have a word
for it - VRANYO.

That is to tell a lie that you do not
expect anyone to believe

the totally transparent
told purely to save face.

Although you do do - LOZH
the straightforward lie.

Or  MASKIROVKA
the "little masquerade."

The Salisbury Cathedral
Spire of you.

The fake news
of you.

Well listen Buddy
I can't spare a mind.

And I've just quit
this here friendship.

you are the one that I keep
to say the things I dare not speak
I dare not speak my fear of words so weighted
To place burden heavily on those who listen
those who listen as unwitting

and I'm scared and I fear the rejection of me
because what I am and what I aim are not the same
so I'm scared to say and what I do is
write. I write circular and call it stylistic
I write obfuscations and complications
verbal rotations, slanted off rhymes
phrases and incompletes
pieces and pieces of me
because a one line yes a one line plain
would mean I could no longer hide.

so here you are, the one I keep
to say the things I dare not speak

We’ve given our souls to Facebook
We naively took the hand
Of those who offered us candy
Laced with mind controlling words.

And we, like sheep, converged around
The lies and obfuscations,
Believing everything was true,
Ignoring shadows in the looking glass.

Everything keeps changing
But it always stays the same.
Those who see the stop signs
Are run down by those who don’t.

Our lives are full of ***** dishes
And our dreams are thick with dust.
The sun comes up, so we feel fine.
Who notices the storm clouds.

We worship at the small blue square,
Heeding the Siren’s deceptive song.
We offer up intelligence
On the altar made of midnight tweets.

Sleepwalker-like, we stumble on,
Convinced there is no cliff ahead,
That what the Judas Goat proclaimed
Will see us safely on our way.

We put up photos of our meals
And morph our face to kittens.
We have a thousand friended friends
But not a one who knows us.

We’ve sold our souls to the internet.
It cost us everything we had,
And now we can no longer see
We teeter on the precipice,
ljm