Image by Pascal Debrunner.

In memory of Refaat Alareer and Hind Rajab

I’ll be brief, friends, speak quickly, this much

I’ve learned: there’s no perfection

in plague years, the soul of wit’s an engine

of breath, a puff of smoke, a pinch of salt,

a string, a tale, a life

in American dreams, war’s a fortress, a bunker,

a freckled whelp, a celluloid film, a stupid girl

forever picking the daisy that starts the

silo rising like a sphinx,........

© CounterPunch