The Jerusalem En­ve­lope (2)

The London Magazine - - NIALL MCDEVITT -

en­cir­cled by, not the star called the snake-tamer, but by sil­wanic pools, by Reu­ven Rivlin and Jeremiah, trapped in Anathoth with­out a per­mit, what birds, sky pris­ons, walk­ing hard­scrab­ble for miles to get to, chained into surveilled nooks, I trans­form into a dog or a camel as if by black magic, I a fa­ther, me a

son of culpa, the sce­nario Is­rael needs to pro­tect it­self from, lis­ten­ing dusts, the re­ports that frankly don’t give a dam, the miles and miles of hand­writ­ing ex­plain away with mene menes the good bad and ugly of the cow­boy wall that out-herods herod etc. my shadow is not an imal an imal, ra­dio sig­nals to snipe

Jerusalem shall be called the… er… city of truth, sayeth Zecheriah, two-be­tween, every voice bugged by its own ear, the voices go on, ever for, eerie gauntlets and cor­ri­dors widen into dis­posed turfs, en­gi­neer­ing dances about us sa­tan­i­cally but we are too small too many to be one op­pos­ing force, in­fan­tilised, Amer­i­cans

have many ideas about this city, mill ideas, book ideas, life ideas, dust ideas, air ideas, shit ideas, red is some­thing we don’t wish to see right now, sun-bars, an an­gel with red and white wings is hold­ing an ar­row to the back of a cat’s head, Uri Ariel, Kerry and the EU, lit­er­ally col­umns of ink dry­ing in sun, mak­ing his­tory

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