Invisible Doomer

 

Two decapitated corpses in a cesspit renewed a promise 

to the conscience of humanity, all-female squads 
of religious police have been dragged, a type of vertigo 

of blue nylon and beige scraps of fabric to the horizon, 

the smell of sand and raw sewage had the ear 
of the jailers, there isn’t a problem on this earth 

I cannot solve, a foreigner told me, the bullet tore 

through his face, goats bleated like many detainees, 
malaria and polio were rustic and guttural, Mama,

a sleek white machine known as A.I., an oversharer, 

a bit of a mumbler, spent a while gazing, bemused but
nonjudgmental, at a few of the spines, the death of death, 

a yogurt-and-cucumber salad, Impossible beef gyros.