My mum was a bride
I love her umbilical cord
I didn't hear her laughing as she was a kid
People shout, I don't know why
Mummy......Jasmine...
I don't know if
sleeping ones are dead or alive ?!!!


مادرم عروس بود
من بند ناف مادرم را دوست دارم
وقتی که کودک بود
صدای خنده های مادرم را نشنیدم
نمی دانم چرا آدم ها جیغ می کشند
...مامان من.....یاسمن
نمی دانم وقتی آدم ها می خوابند
مرده اند یا زنده !!!؟

I've never read The Torah, but
I'm reasonably sure
it is a travel guide
for a desert getaway.

I've never dreamed of
red headed priestesses
who can move their hips
like cement mixers.
They probably have sharp teeth and
slender fingers.

I always thought that
the cosmos would bend down
to give me a dap.
It still may.

I'm full of dark and weird judgement.
All for you.
Sometimes the darkness wanes
while the weirdness lingers.

How do I explain that
today is a day I loathe myself
till red raw bones slip out of
their skin cages and bitter tendons

snap snap snap, ribs twisted,
fingernails gripping this bloodless face
white polka dot prints darkening
later to purple, I want to run away

but I cannot leave this house, I want
to forget but not to forgive, burning acid
sickening my stomach, I ***** hatred
at the mirror, there is nothing

good here, there is only
violence spinning a coin
and me.

My whole body trembles
at human contact
like an addict
that is on withdrawl
so many years
without touch
leaves me searching for hands
and embraces
that will calm
my feverish heart
and the day after
my heart is still
excruciatingly beating
trying to jump out of my chest
and walk amongst the world
to leap into someone's arms
because that moment was not enough
and I need more
that moment was not enough
I'm an addict of love
and now I know the highs and lows
of withdrawl

Three months ago,
I saw your face in the rear view mirror
Of a beat pickup truck.
And now,

I can still feel the sting of your cold fingers
As they glide across my heart and grasp at it.

I can still taste the hatred spewing from your
Teeth and flowing into my head.
Telling me i am not enough.

I can still smell the burnt scraps of my soul,
Lying in a pile by your bed.

I still feel like I was paper,
Crumpled and unfixable.

If, when we die,
We choose our
Destination,
I would travel
Into the night sky
And become one
With the stars.

They lack judgment,
They lack wisdom,
Yet they are animals
Of infinite spans of
Inherent mystery.

As my body would
Materialize
And drift slowly
Through the airless
Darkness,
I would close my
Eyes,
And listen to the
Cacophonous silence.

I would let my
Eyes
Rest upon beds of
Black nothingness
And let my vision
Focus only ahead
Of me
On the supernova
Of my own fleeting
Past.

I would let my
Troubles
Become simple
Memories
And let my
Petty body float
Away
As my mind would
Drift
Far into the boundless
Void.

And, as I would
Near the end of
My journey, I
Would not cry,
For that would
Insinuate
That I wasn't at
Peace
For a single
Moment
Of my voyage through
Time and space.