A Pamphlet Titled, "Know Your Enemy"

look at my hands-
they are sling-back
bottle necks
stemming towards
your Palestinian kiss,

depositing a small
bundle of self
upon the fields,
carving a path
for yourself to
exist in,

like the histories
of the lands we
left.

I couldn’t regulate
my temperature
which might have
something to do
with the blood
exchange,

the weird light
that entered
through the heavily
colored glass was
not daylight,
not at all.

the room became
its own brand of
moth wing.

after the first cup,
I said, in my way,
“were you up all
night?”

I’ve decided to be
done with being
impressed.

the terrorist in my
brain gets paper cuts
and calls in sick.
I’ll read the newspaper
every day and learn
nothing of her woods.