When the Thirteenth Day comes
You’ll go with the flowing water
And speak to the sky and the earth
Of the beautiful moments of love.
And Now It’s Bombing My Family in Iran
Let me compose a song for peace
Beyond your phony epics.
At seven o’clock in the morning
As I pass by a green house
An automatic sprinkler
Suddenly goes off
And wets me head to toe.
I do not wait for poetry
But go in search of it
Because my wings are broken
And I am left far from my nest…
We returned from a Trump protest
And wanted to walk in Golden Gate Park.
We stopped at a sandwich shop
Which smelled like Tehran.
Death, like a weary actress
Has gone behind the stage
To take off her black dress
And put on her lounging gown.
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