Nassy Fesharaki Poems

Sad flute of Andes

This windbag, old junk-box,
This house of, mad dog, fox
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Morphine

You are thief
You stole our opium.
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Bill 51

Red and white maple leaf
Was torn; hung from tree
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Cold Equinox

It is cold, there’s no doubt
Celsius is minus, twenty one
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Navigation

Once there were LOPs
Getting them a hard task
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Past and present

He carried five shopping bags
Heavy for so many steps
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I want blood

Unlike them
(Nameless ones)
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She wants

Complained in salon:
“I want man
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24 hours

In her eyes land tears
Wants cry, powerless
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Maggots

Your blood is still with me.
It is as I shed it.
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