Schorach Ani Wenowwach, Benoith Hierushaloim!*

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468

I knew I drew a hand
but in fear of what music fills these shores
in awkward English burns these thoughts of song
catching a glimpse of smoke and blood
we are fascinated by the shadows -
the bones of kings
*"the face of my skin is beautiful,
Oh daughters of Jerusalem!"

469

the future is a river
a killer of memory, though,
they who find themselves lost in suicide
will forget the name of the poison that brought them here.
To Whom Goes the Benefit?
we shake hands with phantoms
we chase our auroras
we become flotation devices
we lie about our habits
our rank speech falls hollow
on forgotten ears.