You Can’t Hurry Joe (Draft 0)

I seek leave, leave to calm my mind
I seek to catch, catch the airline

But Joe said you can’t just regress;
no … um,
you’ll just have to regret,

he said, rescue isn’t easy:
it’s a game of spin and fake

You can’t hurry Joe
no you live with mistakes,
you gotta mistrust, and fall away
no spinning lies too much to take

Yet how can I discount the shootings and shouts
until I find the egress from stress, find my love again
and now the only hope that leaps to mind is you
when I picture you alive, yes, but hope’s nearly screwed

Yet I remember Simon said
You can’t hurry Joe
no you live with mistakes,
you gotta mistrust, and fall away
no spinning lies too much to take

Oh knock, knock, at the door; who’s there about
a Joe joke as he watches his watch, watches coffins shout.
No, I can’t wait for a love to remember me because
I’ve heard about the hangings, the rapes, the many executions they celebrate
and those ugly few words infuriate ’cause

Yes I remember they said
You can’t hurry Joe
no you live with mistakes,
you gotta mistrust, and fall away
no spinning lies too much to take

Throughput of Lies (Draft 1)

A Kingdom is given to psychopaths
and serial killers. Delaware’s aware
from vacation on occasion.

Sling the day like a hammock
while parts are played out, applause
stage managed from the broken wings.

“One must get out while the getting is good.”
and leaving is such sour sorrow
in ‘morrow’s marrow arrows, yes

let the throughtput of lies rise,
list spins and flights of fancy
be greatest hype-numbers cited,
let the praise of higher-ups be heightened
with selfies at the closing gates of hell.

Yet, the dead of the deadline haunt
the Zombies of congress, because
lies are infrastructure: a spin code
for burned bridges to Kabul, a
criminal minding in fantasy while
Joan of Arc is beheaded on the road.

What obfuscation is praise worthy now?
Incognito leftovers remain.

An endowment for the arts,
the Senator is writing a new book:
“Criminal Minding.”

A Kingdom is given to psychopaths
and serial killers, those gourmets
who search house-to-house for
those incognito leftovers who
didn’t wish to leave
(Simple Simon says.)

In the blovian House a Fugu rider is passed,
such blowhards with sweethearts
have iron wills to bloviate

Eat and be merry.

The Throughput of Lies (Draft 0)

The throughtput of lies is rising,
spins and flights of fancy
greatest hype-numbers ever,
self-congratulations highest
at the closing gates of hell.

The dead of the deadline haunt
the Zombies of congress, because
lies are infrastructure: a spin code
for burned bridges to Kabul where
Joan of Arc on the road is beheaded.

Rafiq en Jannat (versie 2)

Rafiq, mijn vriend, mijn liefste,
toneelstukken zijn verboden, maar
je gaat dit bescheiden meisje schrijven
de woorden voor een geheime blos op de wangen.

Muziek is verboden
maar je zult met me dansen
als schaamte verdampt als
zoete zweet in
rouwdauw.

Refiq, mijn zon, mijn duif:
er komt een ochtend
wanneer liefde toekomt.

Ja voorwaar, ik sta erop! Vragen:
waarom dansen tussen de nevels?

Laat deze archaïsche manieren gaan,
verban genuanceerde retorische neten;
ja wacht op mysterieuze antwoorden.
ik sta erop

Je doordringt de dag, want
een vogel zingt en jij bent het;
een vogel is verboden dus hij vliegt

Ik adem vreugde in vanuit de lucht
en jij bent het, blauwe Rafiq

Stil, ik ben spelling aan het leren,
oh Rafiq

roep mijn naam aan, Jannat, en
je zult mijn paradijs delen

Waarom?
Omdat ik aan het wassen ben
watermeloenzaden tegen betaling,
maar ik kan ze niet eten.

Ik ben zo vruchtbaar als een granaatappel
maar mijn sap is echter verboden
het is zoet en scherp zoals jij.

Schrijf mijn naam op een vijgenblad, en
binnenkort zal ik komen om het te kussen.

Maar toch is er regen in de wolken
en zout bevat de tranen

Gecast en dan werp mij. Speel mij.

Werp mij in een toneelstuk
als een spreuk.

Snel. Stuur je tante om me te inspecteren.
Ik zal mijn gezicht verbergen, en ik zal
mezelf lelijk en gehoorzaam maken.
Zij zal melden dat ik geschikt ben.

Ik wil een ster voor je zijn.
Ik vraag me af of Bollywood te ver is.
Om 4 uur studeer ik mijn natuurkundeboek
en ik weet van drama…

Lanceer ons een raket naar de sterren
en vind me de “Twilight Zone”
video-

Toch is regen inherent aan wolken
en verdriet zouten teisteren de tranen,
de bommen barsten in velden.

Laat me ons verbergen zoals
een goedaardige subtiliteit in
de goddelijke bloem van mijn jeugd

Maar bloemschikken is
een geur van leugens voor een meisje;
verplichtingen voor vrouwen,

Toch, van de natuur, wolken
vocht verliezen, troebele ogen
regen zout verdriet, en uit de oorlog
bommen barsten in velden zodat
soldaten kunnen kindbruiden nemen

Ik wil een ster voor je zijn.
Ik vraag me af of Bollywood te ver is
of de Poolster te dierbaar.

Rafiq, spreek een spreuk voor me uit.
Mijn vader is zijn baan kwijt.

Hij is vergiftigd door het geloof
en ik ben bang

Er zijn bommen in het veld, en
stormen naderen onze
hoge lemen muur.

Vader is krankzinnig, en
hij zal mij verkopen.

Rafiq, ben je echt?

Jij bent de dag, want
een vogel zingt en jij bent het;
Ik adem een ​​dodelijke mist in,
ik luister

Rafiq and Jannat (Draft 2)

Rafiq, my friend, my love,
plays are forbidden but
you will write this modest girl
the words for a secret blush on cheeks.

Music is forbidden
but you will dance with me
if shame evaporates like
sweet sweat in
mourning’s dew.

Refiq, my sun, my dove:
a morning will come
when love is due.

Yea verily I insist! Ask:
why dance amidst the mists?

Begone archaic ways, nuanced
rhetorical nits; yes wait for
mysterious replies. I insist

you inhere the day, for
a bird sings and it is you;
a bird is forbidden so it flies

I breathe in joy from the sky
and it is you, blue Rafiq

Hush, I am learning spelling,
oh Rafiq

invoke my name, Jannat, and
you will have my paradise shared

Why?
Because I am washing
watermelon seeds and
not eating them.

I am as fertile as a pomegranate
but my juice is forbidden though
it’s sweet and tart like you.

Write my name on a fig leaf, and
soon I will come and kiss it.

But yet rain inheres the clouds
and salt inheres the tears

Spell me. Play me.

Cast me in a play
like a spell.

Quick. Send your Aunt to inspect me.
I will hide my face, and I will
make myself ugly and obedient.
She will report that I am suitable.

I want to be a star for you.
I wonder if Bollywood is too far.
At 4 a.m. I study my physics book
and I know about drama…

Launch us a rocket to the stars
and find me the “Twilight Zone”
video

But yet rain inheres the clouds
and salt inheres the tears,
the bombs burst in fields

Let me hide us like
a benign subtlety in
the divine flower of my youth

But flower arranging is
a perfume of lies for a girl;
obligations for women,

But yet rain inheres the clouds
and salt inheres the tears, and
bombs burst in fields
so soldiers might plunder

I want to be a star for you.
I wonder if Bollywood is too far
or the North Star too dear.

Rafiq, cast a spell for me.
My father has lost his job.

He is too weak from belief
and I fear

the bombs in the field.
Storms approach our
high mud wall.

Father is insane, and
he will sell me.

Rafiq, are you real?

you inhere the day, for
a bird sings and it is you;
I breathe in a deadly mist,
I listen

Rafiq and Jannat (Draft 1)

Rafiq, my friend, my love,
plays are forbidden but
you will write this modest girl
the words for a secret blush on cheeks.

Music is forbidden
but you will dance with me
if shame evaporates like
sweet sweat in
mourning’s dew.

Refiq, my sun, my dove:
a morning will come
when love is due.

Yea verily I insist! Ask:
why dance amidst the mists?

Begone archaic ways, nuanced
rhetorical nits; yes wait for
mysterious replies. I insist

you inhere the day, for
a bird sings and it is you.
a bird is forbidden so it flies

I breathe in joy from the sky
and it is you, blue Rafiq

Hush, I am learning spelling,
oh Rafiq

invoke my name, Jannat, and
you will have my paradise shared

Why?
Because I am washing
watermelon seeds and
not eating them.

I am as fertile as a pomegranate
but my juice is forbidden though
it’s sweet and tart like you.

Write my name on a fig leaf, and
soon I will come and kiss it.

But yet rain inheres the clouds
and salt inheres the tears

Spell me.

Rafiq and Jannat (Draft 0)

Rafiq, my friend, my love,
plays are forbidden but
you will write this modest girl
the words for a secret blush on cheeks.

Music is forbidden
but you will dance with me.
Shame.

Why?
Because you inhere the day:
the bird sings and it is you.
Birds are forbidden so
they fly, but I breathe in joy
from the sky and it is you.

I am secretly learning spelling.
Invoke my name, Jannat, and
you will have paradise

Why?
Because I am washing
watermelon seeds and
not eating them.
I am as fertile as a pomegranate
but my juice is forbidden though
it’s sweet and tart like you.

Write my name on a fig leaf, and
soon I will come and kiss it.

But yet rain inheres the clouds
and salt inheres the tears

Spell me.

Fairy Tales for Elderly Children

The Empress’ New Mask

In the beginning of the Wuhan era,
the crown-virus was veiled by deceit
and the Great Orchid Empress was crowned.

Faustti, the Financier of renowned repute funded
Court Wizards to gain them functionality.

The Empress valued costume
and guise more than perfume

But something was fishy in Denmark
when two merchants appeared:

The Merlin brothers claimed they could weave
tales into masks made from bat skins.

The coverings had a property that
anyone without virtue could not
wear it without whistling
past the graveyard.

The plague was a blessing for her,
a hodge-podge of opportunity
and she never rued her power.
“Rules are rules like
the fabric of pedagogy.”

She went to a school to mask the children
and read them a story, but

Though the Orchid Empress was past the flower of her youth
she snuck an enormus serving of bacon under her mask
just before visiting the children to harangue them

The teacher was in awe of the Empress.
“Her majestly will read you a story…
Don’t fidget with your face coverings.”

There was a smirk beneath the Empress’ mask.
“I will read you ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes,’
by Hans Christian Andersen, and…”

A pack of dogs broke into the school, and
attacked the Empress.

A child shouted, “She whistled for the dogs!”