Waiting for coffee 
In broken English

We impose desire
In between the air
Of airport transit
And the promised threats
At destination

Words are slices of time
Together with few bags
They travel with us
After the duty free 

If surrounded by noise
They allow forgetting
I will love you
As a collateral of revolution

Shyness messes with class privilege
I am a bad minority -- my ancestors
Are without electricity
Or blood
They stopped fixing broken lightbulbs
When few years ago
A miracle caused no one to change
My hair grew despite porn
And when I sat next to the candidate
I smiled politely and desired him
One of the campaign alternatives was suicide
So we stayed outside the masses
And handed out fake emails
We failed and failed and it worked out

Some days I am grateful for insomnia
Like when you sleep on my shoulder
And it softens my politics
There is no need for the imagination
A world is ending slowly
I am sipping tea instead of coffee
And I am grateful
For the poetics of walking the streets
For the luxury of insomnia 
When you sleep on my shoulder
And it softens my politics

After short struggles against ergonomics
I cook breakfast
And we gain one more day because of storytelling

All we had to offer then was our obedience
And they accepted it
Although - in truth - it was never enough
To build a comfortable story around childhood
Or about the nothingness of our modified resumes 
Our cities were dusty
Our cities were massacre ready:
They taught the shapes of our bodies to all kind of sociologists
And transformed our obedience into mild ridiculousness 
Then secured our existence from staff changes in the middle of the shift
We drank our alcohol safely
It was worth the blood...

these cracks
filled with carbohydrates
in the dust of the bourgeoisie
and its imposed death
the world weighs 
we are created equals
within an illegitimate love
and the different shapes of fear

I want to write you this dirty 
Email about desiring your 
Desire and vice versa - this email
Will be a snapshot of 
Our bodies and it will be 
Inadequate - it won't be able
To fully recall how it felt having
Breakfast at the greasy spoon
While we smelt of each other -
No wait - you took a shower - I
Didn't - I wanted you on my skin
For few extra hours - and then in
This strange city - all cities
Are strange - we found that
Making love for long yields
Happiness - I am happy today
Reading books and I want to
Write you this dirty email
About nothing

This is not about seduction
It is about hanging out tonight 
While surrounded by capitalism
It rains
And we call it love
This continuous threat of collapse

I want to be lost in Seattle dimness 
Turning slowly into a nature poet
Writing about leaves changing colors
And ugly highways - I will ride the bus to work
And hide from the passengers - I will 
Also hide hope in an okay refrigerator

We have to accept the naivete of the of the world
As money moves us from one parking lot to the next
While chanting useless words to mark our involvement 
In these deaths -- now I look at a long street daily
And it doesn't help to think of the division of labor
As the starting point of this tragedy

It is admirable to do things other than touching one another
I'm talking here about language -- its fumes, and miniature arguments
The visio diagram we drew won't take us anywhere 
This is a salute to desire as the mad ones linger behind
We ride the cart -- socialist and business strategists
To go there - a clean suburb of Facebook posts

It is an ending world, so no one writes us
In the middle of it I mentioned you
And now I am Northbound -- 
So I cry when seeing things melting -
In this great melting pot

Feeding our devices electricity
They produce imaginary lovers
And white collar immigrants:
Tonight I'll hitchhike 
Through many doorknobs 
Maybe all of this hinges on Aristotle
We still have to find an exit strategy
Through these black and white squares

Poets should save us from happiness
Out in the lab they are studying the natives
I vowed to stay cryptic
As I am keeping you posted
About the joys of life
And as I touch you 
As if we exist
I will keep looking in design books
For shapes that help the world
Drag its infinity behind

The poor don't exist
They die
Then reincarnate even poorer
Trapping nightmares
An excuse for voice over
& flying objects exporting intimacies
Try us again tomorrow
We would have marked the streets
With over the counter banalities

Life is browse-able
& it can be substituted for salt
It is also sufficient to conduct few experiments 
(Over and over)
The class war is founded on good mathematics
And death is an old fashioned calculus
That will always arrive suddenly
To help cure fifteen layers of sadness

Back to the conceptualism of rain
Under the burden of choosing sides
A skinny sniper sends his bullets
Into Harold Bloom's guarded Canon
What is the ethics of fucking
Under civil war manufactured tweets?
I draw my line at 3:00 p.m.
And at crosswalks of trees
The desert will come and go
As often as rain

All I can afford
Is a small scale metaphysics
Enough to run a rented apartment
With borrowerd Wi-Fi - in order
To watch a faraway war
Or book maintenance appointments
A small enough metaphysics
To invite an angel or two over
& cook them hot water
In exchange of divine secrets
A small en epistemology
To go with it
So I can read cookbooks
& cartoons about Spinoza
Or few haikus

My son taught me to eat cheese pizza
I do and think that
Airports are erotic entities
And words will stay words
Despite poetry
And while at it
Stories too don't end
They only get interrupted by death
Then continue...

The dust is part of the city
And of love
It is scattered over a drawing
Describing an eventual death
I am succumbing to the density of stairs
Until i am tired enough
To accept that the heat 
And the sleeping around
To matter
Or to mean 
As if the The DADAists taught us nothing
As if thet just abandoned their bicycles and collages
And we said nothing in return
We really said nothing in return

Death happens to others
Meanwhile we fly everywhere 
To praise its effects
Like a nomad
I am sure
Cairo is an abstraction
Despite its existence 
To amuse us about tears

the gestures of the world 
are enough
everything here is exact
as if God never left
and as if there is time

don't date him
& sit here with me
to discuss the employability of clouds
we can also pick apples
& drive around without kissing
did you know that we can turn our phones into flashlights
and interrogate each other
it can be fun 
to be inspired by the world
but to improve the situation
there is only one way: fucking
which comes as a surprise to most passengers
in the space station

software dumps itself
on our skulls, in beautiful hexadecimals
I mean: the world is garbage
there is nothing better than aging
which is helpful to imagine
since childhood repaints itself in mp3's 
it taunts us 
as we take a vow of silence 
and let the prosecutors finish their tea

a paper cut
while exploring humanity
the world is salt
but poetry helps
as the city disavows me
with fragility
and precision

Small love messages 
To participate in the daily kitsch 
Fascist but beautiful 
Assuming infinity exists is inadequate
Better to take advantage of loss while it is available

Sorting through abusive mornings:
-Occasional butterflies to curse
-Few memories that will erase themselves later
I breathe instead of breakfast
A soothing world of trial and error awaits us
Until death opens up the shape of the bones

pre bus lipstick 
to water the nothingness

estrangement
(sweetened)
with opened bridges
loss is so unpleasant, we want it
with limited ambition
the clocks move
estrangement
(rented)

Operating from a withheld safety
In the intimacy of extinct music
Some argue for due process
The moments of useful exile
With its mild discrimination
And abrupt orgasms --

Searching for one's own bones
In artifacts scattered
Over multiple bodies
This is to await constructive feedback
Upon failed intimacy
Split this Korean dish with me
Then complement it with sadness
This hope is dire
And it needs the war skills
Acquired over years of poems

All I can afford

Is a small scale metaphysics

Enough to run a rented apartment

With borrowerd Wi-Fi - in order

To watch a faraway war

Or book maintenance appointments

A small enough metaphysics

To invite an angel or two over

& cook them hot water

In exchange of divine secrets

A small epistemology

To go with it

So I can read cookbooks

& cartoons about Spinoza

Or the washing instructions

It is a minor corner
With the laptop illusion of knowledge
Where I can separate the good bombs
From the bad dead
While contemplating the distance
Between Mayakovsky and Lilli Brick
I work with weak closures
To balance the killer within

Back to the conceptualism of rain
Under the burden of choosing sides
A skinny sniper sends his bullets
Into Harold Bloom's guarded Canon
What is the ethics of fucking
Under civil war manufactured tweets?
I draw my line at 3:00 p.m.
And at crosswalks of trees
The desert will come and go
As often as rain

an urban experience

                     GPS

                     death news

                     deaths news from Cairo

death
&

Probability

To Mustafa Said 

The airplanes are landing in Heathrow
Meanwhile some rich dude is studying work
Mustafa: fucking in front of mirrors didn't solve much
Or did it?
Around here, there is a digitized infinity
But driving takes the edge off
From the middleness of the middle class
Yet doesn't work well with loss
Or the news about bullets
Taking out the enemy
Who is equally aroused by certainty

Angels are useful
Not just the clean shaven ones
Also the drunk
Who will misplace a soul
In a metaphor
To bridge reality with reality

Life is browse-able
& it can be substituted for salt
It is also sufficient to conduct few experiments  
(Over and over)
The class war is founded on good mathematics
And death is an old fashioned calculus
That will always arrive suddenly
To help cure fifteen layers of sadness

Dragging you into different greasy spoons
How else we may feel the need to be somewhere else together
Because sex needs few cliches
To materialize into loss
It is dangerous to burn oneself with lust
The sufis remember God between kisses
Then evaporate 
When the good wine is over

Life costs much
In five dollar bills
With half a moon 
Dragging a wish to the universe
In the advice of walking
In lying there
Awaiting death or love or both
This city confuses its trees
With kindness 
More friends are waiting