1
See, Nasrudin leads his followers
through the streets and alleys
through the markets and the houses of prayers;
and see, Nasrudin shakes his head and ***
and all his followers shake their heads and bums;
see, Nasrudin sticks out his tongue and rolls his eyes
and all his followers stick out theirs and roll their eyes
and Nasrudin shouts:
Hee hee ** ** ha!
And all followers shout:  
Hee hee ** ** ha!


2
And the Visiting Intellectual asks Nasrudin:
What are you doing
leading these people like donkeys
through the streets?

And Nasrudin replies:
I am leading them, Sir
to Heaven or Enlightenment as they will

And how, queries the Intellectual
will you know
they have reached Enlightenment or Heaven
as they will?

Each day, Sir, says Nasrudin,
*I look to see who is no longer following
and such ones have reached Enlightenment
or have gained Heaven, as each desires…
and now Sir, if you don’t mind,
I must go lead a few more hundred
running round the coconut trees
screaming:  
Hee hee ** ** ha!

Who am I
                     if I cannot
                      bring myself to realize the
                      nature of the word

I know you.

Who am I?

You sound so beautiful
In the rhythm of your heartbreak

So regal in the words from the mouth
Of a giant trumpeted over the plains
At daybreak

The way the elephant stands
Ivory gnarled and precious
Perfect and rare
Like the words you spin from your ivory teeth

Sometimes only glinting from the
Corner of your coyote snicker
A bitter trickster
Playing the beat

And I am in awe
Expecting there to be thunder
From the pound of your feet

But you manage to muffle the
Roll of the rain clouds
So as not to scare the other animals into hiding
So we can all rejoice at the rain

Then the crack of lightning
As it strikes the temples of those
Who stick around long enough
To appreciate the burn inside

You are the regal sound of
elephant trumpet thunder
And the late night
Howl of coyote’s laughter

Knowing perfectly
That it’s your timing
That keeps all the other animals
Up at night

I watch as you take a
       flying leap into the water
  sinking down three, six, twelve feet
             eyes closed, crinkles of concentration
           at last reminded to follow your bubbles to the surface
     and wave excitedly

Anna,
the young lions won't want you
forever.

Eventually you are going to
get tired
of keeping it tight,
of batting your eyes,
of applying the gloss just right.

Anna,
what will you do when the invitation beds
come to an end?

Eventually the lions will settle,
while you gather cobweb and callus,
while you smoke cancer and wallow in cellulite.

Anna,
find a boy who makes you feel like the sun.

Ultimately,
he's the only one who can save your soul
from all the crimes you've done.

The last time I saw
you was in a parking
lot in January. You
were in town for your
father's funeral; my
oranges had tumbled out
of the cart and into
the snow and it was
really very
pretty.

sweat drips down my face,
the floor swims beneath me
and smoke ribbons out of my mouth and nose.
mid-summer in an Arabic bar
with some ******* touching the dancer all over
and saying "*******" over and over again.

he stares at her hips.

the mirror is on one side of me,
and one half of a pair of speakers is beside
my ear.
it's gigantic.

it blares music that my friend tells
me is from some new Bollywood movie.
two hands grab mine and i'm up.
one link in a circle, dancing a
Middle-Eastern two-step that's only slightly
familiar.

faces come in and out of my line of sight.
i recognize none
and feel as if i'm in a Salman Rushdie novel.
maybe i'm Haroun, in a new place with a blue genie
saving a sea of stories, a princess, a land, and my father.
but then again, maybe not.

i would never save my father.

i spin, spin, spin
until i can't see straight.

i wake the next morning on the belly
dancers couch.
my friends are having coffee with her
and discussing whether or not to
take me to the hospital.

Nadia found some blow in my pocket
and flushed it down the toilet.
she found *** in the other and put it back.

they had decided to let me sleep
and from then on call me "American Dream."

Once I spoke the language of the flowers,
Once I understood each word the caterpillar said,
Once I smiled in secret at the gossip of the starlings,
And shared a conversation with the housefly
in my bed.
Once I heard and answered all the questions
of the crickets,
And joined the crying of each falling dying
flake of snow,
Once I spoke the language of the flowers. . . .
How did it go?
How did it go?