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

To hide into a French press

                   Or architecture

                Or queer theory

Leaving few stones out

And using my hands to think

About turning sixteen

Without the perversions

Or communist ideas

Nobody is checking you out 

Which is turning me into a liberal

With a wretched view of the self 

      As an impeccable agent
      

Looking at curves
& editing out the wine
To begin from the socially constructed 
It is impossible to spread virginity without software
Flying again - from the speed bump
Into a shooting range
Kissing the silverware of violence
While taking turns meowing 
Into a half empty reservoir
Then the curtain lands 
On a helicopter
Making love