for mere poets who have considered jihad when ceasefire ain’t enuf

for mere poets who have considered jihad when ceasefire ain’t enuf by z.No scott.


Dasein as a dryrot funk

that we built —

we built unwell.

in chaparral ash, we drive,

thru tinseltown

to this tenth layer — hell.

one king bed i’ve made up

all for myself;

to revel atop the rubble of

someone else’s wealth.

all yielded of speculation and flame

and we curse the sky…

it doesn’t cry for us the same.

we have turned ourselves to nothing,

never anything to mourn.


how do we learn to love living

a life we can’t afford?

i asked a mother,

i asked a moutain,

and i asked a moor (for more).

i said, what made you moot? they said,

what else could we be for?

but to survive another war?

i put the lack right back in lachrymose.

watch me turn black

and back to coast

a full tank made empty —

that’s just enough

my full tank made empty —

that’s just enough,

to get to the desert

and just give up.

for mere poets who have considered jihad when the ceasefire ain’t enuf

the gun was never Bebe, baby.

the whole project is an uzi

all out oozing ‘accidental’ damage…

collateral, as in Mea She’arim.

cavalry stampede atop a holy book;

you thought it could hide you.

ore wrapped sheepskin leaflets fall, ash.

all that’s left to hide in

are the whites of their eyes

and they show them.

they show them

knowing any sign of Self is a whiff—

a whiff to a bloodhound.

how do u wage war against rubber ?

how do u wage war against a rock?

how do u wage war against refuge[e]?

the same way you wage it on yourself.

the way you wage against that,

their bloodboiling refusal of

being mowed // cleaned away.

and you mow away,

you have.

cleansing soil,

drawing blood from it.

feeling free on the beat

of an unmarked grave…

asking for a ceasefire

they offer a lil pause.

i will call it a beat

another bloody reload.

we heard you say “all of them.”

must be a reflex to the likes of you.

as in a crop rotation, you move all

of them deeper into nowhere.

that place you were meant to know.

as i know it.

now shirtless at the sea

the same we can’t mention: freedom

you [quote] conquered the beach. you [sic] are safe. you [sic] are happy.[unquote]

what made you smile when you thought of removal? what made you laugh?

i saw a child dream of bread yesterday,

the same way i pray for him to have it.

knowing prayers can all go

viral in a vacuum, sealed away.

sealed away, these prayers —

up in an iron dome —

it becomes so much easier

to think they’re safe there.

every prayer for Palestine a fingertraprazorbladeposter;

a human shield

we all have became for ending life.

that life of

a field of Fidā’i

all singing


Still, you mow away and bark

at the endless flame of freedom fighting when it blows at you,

how dare u deign to fan urself?

spitting names out onto a holy book…

you thought it could hide you…

you forget the flame

ever evading golan’s strategic height.

yet, you kindled it in Gaza —

stoked it to keep you warm in the desert,

let it see through the night.


unaware, next of kin in Gaza overturn rocks for relief.

i pray they throw them.

throw them.

throw them.

i pray they ignite.

for god’s sake

a single toss of gauze

wont stop the bleeding

won’t stop the fight.




z.No scott. is the benign ghost—behind the guidepost—disguised in guy’s clothes; a rhizome [comprised of rhinestones] crying in tritones.


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