the bouncer of my road house heart            my wild Johnny the first man i thought to love

When you try to speak of home What comes out is kisses, birds

I don’t know mainly how to save myself from my words: I would want them all, alive and well, or at once, all at once, burning.

While omniscience is often equated with divinity, to forget is to be human—it is to die a human death. Remembering, then, works to resist the natural course of decay and extinction. We excavate our mind like we fumble in a wild garden; we scratch underneath family stories, tales, poems, books. To remember is to take an unknown journey and sometimes we come across special objects.

Protect the head, where the algae grow, and the sun screams from the summit.  The head that has stared for centuries  into the sea as it closed its eyelids, and never blinked. 

We are flesh measured in kilograms, my Palestinian colleague says in desperation But you are a thinker not a doer  So you do nothing

Mizna, a founding member of the Poetry Coalition, is accepting applications for a paid Poetry Coalition Fellowship position. This position … Continue reading "FELLOWSHIP OPPORTUNITY"

IF THERE IS AN UPPER LIMIT TO THE HUMAN CAPACITY TO COMPUTE MASS ATROCITY THEN THERE MUST BE A HARD LIMIT ON LETHAL TECHNOLOGIES BECAUSE THE IMPLICATION IS THAT AS VIOLENCE ESCALATES IT ALSO BECOMES INCREASINGLY INCOMPREHENSIBLE

We are a part of history, and history—as it is well known—is a condition and an action in the past. Except us: we are a past continuous and neverending. We address you all from it presently, so that it does not become your future.