Writer and Artist
Stare too long and like an optical illusion
the diffracted light hums with intensity.
The edges of its diadem fray like candlelight.
They could not do it with their aureoles of gold leaf.
It had to be plasma spinning billions of kilometers
in as little time as it takes you to visit your parents.
Journalism is a fertility ritual
the art of performing for others who till
sow and harvest, while the gods stand still
R. Charboneau
To Kurdish peoples of undisclosed lands
that were yours by right of blood, the kind
that flows and the kind that spills out.
I write as someone who matters nothing.
Those are the ones who will tell you the truth.
The others will tell you the opportunity
just wasn’t there yet. You had no idea
liberty took so long, not when it rode in
on the foaming Gulf, screaming across
the dusty skies of sun-baked Kuwait.
