Page 2 - Will Herring News Today

Beneath the desert sun, one man by one man by one man breathes six. Thousands of tons wrung sonorous from the sky. Where is god . Blackeyed woman, the street dogs are running wild. Will you save me . Simple white ignorance, even the desert has gone into hiding. There is no more meaning here than the crested moon holds towards a dying grove of date trees. I am for the arabic, for the transcription of the arabic, zato dates over firebaked bread. The twin rivers have already called for us a history...

On the steppe, now he is bound. The ewe gives up her lamb, the goat gives up her kid. My heart plays the reed pipe of mourning. In a place where he once said my mother will ask for me, now he cannot move his hands, now he cannot move his feet. I would see my child. The mother walked to the desolate place. She looked at the slain wild bull. She looked into its face. She said, my child, the face is yours. The spirit has fled. There is mourning in the house. There is grief in the inner chambers. Th...

El batanabi wrote the heart of our silken tanab, what need have we for you . No poem has ever enough red but that its blood might river beneath the veins of its people. Beneath the desert sun, one man by one man by one man breathes six. Thousands of tons wrung sonorous from the sky. Where is god . Blackeyed woman, the street dogs are running wild. Will you save me . Simple white ignorance, even the desert has gone into hiding. There is no more meaning here than the crested moon holds towards a d...

Six. Thousands of tons wrung sonorous from the sky. Where is god . Blackeyed woman, the street dogs are running wild. Will you save me . Simple white ignorance, even the desert has gone into hiding. There is no more meaning here than the crested moon holds towards a dying grove of date trees. I am for the arabic, for the transcription of the arabic, zato dates over firebaked bread. The twin rivers have already called for us a history. Our poets have already explained to us the desert. By what ri...

Do not cry for leila or for him, but drink the red wine and grow your love doublely, one for the ruby in the cup, the other for its rouge on your cheek. Bombs rape the eyes of the sleeping assyrian gods. As if it were only a sand box, a few worthless grains of sand. Ill cut for you the last swathe of blue from the sky, sever my and if youll let me, but for 5 minutes more, leave me to sleep without the knowledge of war. A kanun weeps near the funeral of music. Having been occupied, notes mourn fo...

Let you hear, however briefly, their deadly harmony. This is called markings and its in two parts. One, the last is leveled. The eye witnesses are moved to a yard, a street. The road is made smooth. Two, we have the ability to not regret, not one death and then exactly two even before another. And in this approximate silence we have felt that not regreting has spared us loneliness. Called at the door. You did not tell me about these hours, how thick they were and wounded. I hear myself telling s...

Sister . I am your sister. Oh, dimusi, who is your mother . I am your mother. The day that dawns for you will also dawn for me. The day that you will see, i will also see. I would find my brother, i would comfort him, i would share his fate. When she saw the sisters grief, when anana saw the grief of gestana, she spoke to him gently. Dimusi is no more. I would take you to him, but i do not know the place. Then a fly appeared. The holy fly circled the air above ananas head and spoke, if i tell yo...

On the steppe, now he is captured. Once dimusi wandered so freely on the steppe, now he is bound. The ewe gives up her lamb, the goat gives up her kid. My heart plays the reed pipe of mourning. In a place where he once said my mother will ask for me, now he cannot move his hands, now he cannot move his feet. I would see my child. The mother walked to the desolate place. She looked at the slain wild bull. She looked into its face. She said, my child, the face is yours. The spirit has fled. There ...

On the steppe, now he is captured. Once dimusi wandered so freely on the steppe, now he is bound. The ewe gives up her lamb, the goat gives up her kid. My heart plays the reed pipe of mourning. In a place where he once said my mother will ask for me, now he cannot move his hands, now he cannot move his feet. I would see my child. The mother walked to the desolate place. She looked at the slain wild bull. She looked into its face. She said, my child, the face is yours. The spirit has fled. There ...

On the steppe, now he is captured. Once dimusi wandered so freely on the steppe, now he is bound. The ewe gives up her lamb, the goat gives up her kid. My heart plays the reed pipe of mourning. In a place where he once said my mother will ask for me, now he cannot move his hands, now he cannot move his feet. I would see my child. The mother walked to the desolate place. She looked at the slain wild bull. She looked into its face. She said, my child, the face is yours. The spirit has fled. There ...