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“As the Pious Plant Bombs for the Caliphate”: Picture Story Tweets

We spent so many years rehearsing what to say that, when it came time to speak, we remembered the words but not why we were saying them.

The witticism made sense, in principle. It was both right and funny. But in reality it was not just fallacious gibberish. It was a crime.

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Cairo in Indigo: the Photo Poem (without the Photos)

Hipstamatic makes no sense.
In the idle grip of suspended motion—
endless traffic in stasis,
prosthetic limbs scratching against car doors—
what’s the use of predefined filters pretending to be the aesthetic technology of not much earlier times?
You want to play with the beasts.
Soul splashed on the asphalt, to dream your own dreams,
imagination feeding like ruminants.

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Fake Painting: An iPhoneography Poem

The Angel (Your picture)

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Sleep now, as though you’d never in your life occupied a frame,
As though your hands had never set even this picture in a frame,
As though they had not arranged cuttings that float

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