Could prayer be an affirmation of privilege?
Or a poor sacred pleading for peace in the fragmentation of the profane’s immediacy?
Who doesn’t wear the trigger vest surplice
of the morning news rank with cheap incense
into the rush hour exhaust of afternoon?
As a young’un easily seduced by knowledge
who would not mourn Shireen Abu Akleh
assassinated in her blue vest of witness?
Rachel Corrie bulldozed into Palestinian rubble?
Whole families machine-gunned in their homes
by freedom fighter terrorist drones of revenge?
My heart is an iPhone tracking each graphic
implosion in pixels of grief. In craters of bomb
blasts. In Hebrew Arabic English & Russian