Ghazal Script

Manicured lawns border the unnatural
rows of delicate, rare foreign specimens

Nothing more than a controlled experiment,
carefully monitored by austere men in white lab coats.

The sirens song still bellows from a concealed cassette player,
Compiled from sessions recorded long ago.

No virgin territory to be found here –
Its all been had before.

Protective parents dress their children
in Sunday clothes with nametags.

Every inch of her supple, delicate body
has already been stroked by strong, manipulative hands.

A slick politician conceals true motives
behind a warm smile and sterling reputation.

The Crum is not the unkempt sanctuary
I discovered years ago.

Haggard, caked with blush and garish red lipstick,
she sits on cold concrete with her legs uncrossed.

Of all the winding paths of rock and compressed earth,
None lead to freedom

In this furtive artifice
ours is the only spontaneity –

Now tattered rags and empty bottles
seem as comfortable on the ground as dead leaves.

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