Sods of Sodomy

Stuck in the abominable haze
of a tumbling crowd, I graze
Empty hands of passers-by,
And Lick their inner throats,
Those so sudden how dry.

Suddenly I saw the sod only,
The Earth had lain down to cry,
Lonely lamentations lying on lanes, lying to each other long
on the longitudinal leniency of lyrical lines of poetry.

But beneath the earth the snake was sliding,
Seven miles circling the
hellish Circus.
Clowns, bearded ladies, homosexuals, wire walkers,
a lot of brandy, rum for the balancing act,
and a lady.

A Lady,
alone in the dim light of the back room rehearsing her routine, her black gown a fictive illusion deluding you that she is real. You want to touch her and she dances. The snake slithers. Her stockings separate and curve. She is the soul of the Circus. The dim light is warm, reflecting on her bronze skin. The wings of her eyes flutter sensuously down to her loose lips, and send you in a trance of reaching, reaching… . Come closer, insert your 20$ bill in the crack of her gown. Come! Let your eyes stray on the curve of her bended buttocks benumbing you into being, as you graze her full breasts with the tip of your fingers. Do you feel alive? You are dead. Let her infuse you with life. Let her help you find God. Insert your 20$ bill. Can you feel your fingers graze the top of her milky skin? Picture yourself falling in the crack of her pointy breasts, down, down… till you reach the warmth of her lips. Wet warm leaking liquid lips; the sanctuary of her legs. Her legs are long; seven miles.
Her legs are lonely lamentations,
longitudinal leniency,
lyrical lines of poetry.
Her legs are spread lanes for you to lie on, to lie to…
Sodom and Gomorrah,
Sods of sodomy the Earth laid down,
Mass hysteria!
The Clowns laugh,
The knife throwers chop each other’s heads,
The Clowns laugh,
The jugglers giggle gaily juggling the empty jugs of human heads,
The Clowns laugh,
The Homosexual curse descends upon the angelic women of the crowd,
The Clowns laugh,
The wire walker patriarch hangs himself from his wire,
The drunk woman from the balancing act climbs, spreads her legs and loses her virginity to the dead stiff cock of the hanging man,
The Director in the last row masturbates to the revelation of his creation,
Little children crawl out of the virgin woman’s entrails,
The crowd screams in bewilderment,
The clowns laugh,
Men kill the children and cook them in the saucy blood of the virgin –
Feed the masses!
The crowd bows down in worship.
The Clowns laugh,
The Director orgasms and the Great Flood drowns the theatre.

A hush came over the lanes of the land;
the longitudinal lyrical lines of the seats,
The poet slept in the back gratified,
waiting for his seeds to sprout, In the distance could be
heard the faint memory of poetry –
Two clowns were laughing.

People of the Sidewalks

The moon rises and we come out
like rats,
like cockroaches on hot summer nights
to infest the romantic streets of Beirut that you love so much.

The smell of afternoon coffee lingers.
You smell it, our caffeinated fuckness,
when you pass by us.
We are breathing caffeine.

You’ll find us gathered in small groups
smoking cigarettes,
laughing like hyenas at you and your kind
on the sidewalks.

Fuck you.

One day, we’ll eat your mothers
with love and kindness.
One day, we’ll piss in your mouths.
One day…

We are very angry.

What’s yours is not ours.
What’s ours are your leftovers.
This is our lottery of birth.

We are not asking for anything.
Don’t let us be.
We will be,
we will be forever.

One day, we –

But not today,
because tonight we’ll drink…

We are the scumbags of the third world,
the people of the sidewalks.