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inamorata of the desert 
though a fat & frumpy film producer 
living in Vegas, 
I hallucinated one graveyard shift 
going to Desert Storm II for the holy war 
to end all wars 
miles from nowhere, as unheard islamic 
chants vie with deafening bombardments 
of endless sand 
while I fended off the stone djinn of death 
with a whirling white turban unraveling 
angel wings flapping spasmodically, 
knowing the army's bio-toxin inoculation 
had failed us: 
now we were vulnerable to diseased invaders 
of hearts, minds, & fallow tendons 
engorging the djinn's anus with dust's 
last supper 
recorded by the spirit in the sky 
my film editor glimpsed back in Vegas 
cutting this low budget video version 
of exotic dancers mud wrestling 
for god 
in the dunes 

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