An Invitation to
the Terrorists' Ball
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Throw away your parachute.
This is free fall. This is war.
Leave your lovers standing there
at the corner where they sold you out
so long ago.
Your man is already dreaming
about his next wife,
after you don’t come home.
And your woman just wants
to stuff you into her oven
so she can give birth
to another Hitler.
Flesh was only a disguise
and you won’t need it anymore.
Strip yourself down
to sinew and bone
so you can dance the rat-a-tat-tat
and wrap yourself up
into such tight convulsions
that won’t stop
until the the false dawn rises
to lick your eyes with its
nitroglycerin tongue.
By the time you get this message
you should already be dead.