Author: Kyla Pasha

The Promises

Far away, in America we wander like the desert never really deserted us and promises trembled in groundswells of dust and ravishment – the land vomits up anger. And we’re going home. Covenental ardor. And we’re tethered now to an arkful of pebbles, and judged for hips and roundness of breasts, stream of saliva in which we never stop coming.… Read more →

The Promises

Far away, in America we wander like the desert never really deserted us and promises trembled in groundswells of dust and ravishment – the land vomits up anger. And we’re going home. Covenental ardor. And we’re tethered now to an arkful of pebbles, and judged for hips and roundness of breasts, stream of saliva in which we never stop coming.… Read more →

Up Next, Lahore Song

Now that you’re gone, I don’t write anymore. Once it was all muses with midnight snacks and now I can’t even feel rancour for fear of hurting you with it. Now that you’re going, my art is siphoned out to fuel small efforts in rare buildings and foreign men looking for understanding. Not even that – without you, this town… Read more →

This is Nowhere

The shelling is always heavy if the cannons live in your hide. I said, “Come here,” and I said, “There are fewer massacres on this side, we have free lunches with the devil here and still go home to worship our household gods.” But I was lying – everyone here is dead tonight, and those that walk are suspect. I… Read more →