kuwait city

this last place before the desert

unfurls itself outward, this last

white city curved in on itself bearing

our weight grim and silent, the day

burnt up heights of blue and the muezzin

builds up our dreaming, the detached

moment dropping to prayer as we

wait. we wait. we always wait.

this song it sings, all eaten up by

the heat of it ringing out across emptiness,

and when we stand at the edge and stare

across the false promise of forced


we only see ourselves ready

as night spreads its oil-dark

hands along broken blue, and

behind it the sun roars on, behind

night there is nothing by sun.

we wait.