after Marwan Makhoul
because I cannot find something beautiful to say
after sing-songs of death and glory by
a blood-thirsty state
drown out all things of beauty
splatter over our earth
and grow poisonous things — to ‘make the desert bloom’
this is an ugly poem
when only ugly feeling is present
and an ugly cat is leered at in a corner
declawed for trying to run
the stench of rot follows me around
an amendment: I am able to find beautiful things to say
but I should not have permission to
not when the birds (silenced by said warplanes) lay dead, on the street
where no ugly things dare to mourn
since all the rats and worms and cockroaches are far removed
(I am not calling my people ugly
they are the only beautiful thing there is)
and as the world wants to force ugliness down our mouths; our
esophagus is forced to widen until the concrete blocks it over, and
the only taste left being acid and ash.
