Madder Arabian! Kill! Kill!

Madder Arabs than you
swoop and soar and slalom and suicide
on their carpets chewing holes in the sky
as they cackle mad Arabic curses
that drift downward like spider-legged candies
and nestle in the smoking pits of children’s dreams
at ground zero
where everyone is so surprised
and asking, “Why –
oh, why do they hate us?”
Go ask the slobbering pit bull at the junkyard gate
or the desert’s hot sands.
Ask the dried blood in your rage-flared nostrils
and don’t ever forget to stop acting surprised.


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