I ask about the office
where opinion shapers
rhyme my country with its cancer,
And I will flip the conference table
 on the conference itself.
I will tell them
I have mailed you fire last week, did you receive my flames?
They will imagine a rifle on my tongue
and fix themselves fetuses in the corner,
cover their ears in fear of the firecrackers
and horses and rockets I’ve stuffed in my bag.
They will heave their proclamation,
heed my “perspective” of current affairs,
I’ll hold my word to one of the men’s heads.
and he’ll tremble as I press against his temple and say,
Say it.
Say it.
Say my name without spitting.
— “Crows”

On most days we weep in advance.

We looked up to the clouds, got up on clouds.
Here, we know two suns: earth’s friend and white phosphorus.
Here, we know two things: death and the few breaths before it.

What do you say to children for whom the Red Sea doesn’t part?
— “No Moses in Siege”