Ghazal

I am calling your bones back
with your fugitive face

through nocturnal cityscapes
where the moon is a novelty

I am calling your name back
through the loudspeaker

saying Goodbye goodbye
over aisles of bent worshippers

Damaged goods Send them back
The change will do you good

You the prototype of beauty
posing for second drafts

You the ape in uniform letting
scientists sit on your lap

You the cut of meat dubbed
Survivor behind the glass

Evacuation

We the people of the only
city in lieu of children

rob the resemblances
off our own statuary

for this the Ceremony
of Hours in which we roll

our skulls across the longest
dandelion field screaming

Faster than the disease
that robs the face of flesh