my language is an overstock an exact machine a whole program of affect
all the brilliance my ego can command
first I bring the anecdote, a talisman of self:
In Bab Touma I am lost, trying to find the internet café
to tell a woman in New Jersey of my heartbreak.
no one will listen
there are two types of silence:
complete sonority & sordid calculation
she has been waiting for this message
for years. for the end of my sense of obligation
to another. my brow is thick with salt and dust.
this is wrong let it fester
guard your tongue, mute devil
be content with your house
hold a stone in your mouth
I spend too much time on backstory. the connection
falters in the past–I cannot bridge an ocean.
the tongue is a wild beast—the tongue is a key to death
there is nothing more worthy of bondage than the tongue
no. one will listen.
Affective space contains dead spots
where jinn live, who should not hear
I am discipled of silence
If speaking pleases you, be silent. If silence pleases you, then speak.
no. one will. listen.
That night, I drink al-Sharq on rooftops, listening to the evening
shoppers hum below, counting, like tasbih, the words to be unsaid.
the hops of licit love curl the tongue to bitter
the loved becomes a dream creature who does not speak