GOLD LION
#201, #202, #203
Written between 20-22 December 2010
Day One:
A Letter from a Lod Prison
Better to die on one’s feet
Then in exile on your knees
Through the bars.
I see my impending exile.
I see pines.
I see defile.
I see sand bars.
Airships.
I see evil memories.
He had wished to call her, to inform her:
That the earth was smaller.
Now confined to a cell all Levad.
A simple cell.
So close to deportation and so far from God.
A simple foil.
Whispers once offensive, destined to make all apprehensive,
Of separating feet from Brooklyn Soil.
And Zion’s road is Lo-Besheil Nashim ain Hadar.
An ever grind!
A vicious toil!
So close!
He’d been, to put his hand in sands of native soil.
He had,
A manuscript to finish,
He had it in his?
A green bag.
“Why so blind,” the kind guard asks.
“Let him smoke a Noblisse in the yard.”
Carried, black his lungs.
Off Red ideals run ragged, fail in the real world and often the mind,
And the terrors on the roadside calling,
Made him dream of Palestine.
He had one love.
For her that made him smile,
Brooklyn Green now fleeting.
All out of salt pills.
The other Love for Zion’s hills,
Where the chaos and awe of nations birthed and died.
Cycle oft repeating.
The stalling of the great return
The morale now falling..
Out the bars:
AND ZION ROAD IS STILL CALLING!
Takes much from you,
Each time a blast!
Each time more scars.
But struggle people struggle on, he mutters: AIN DAVAR.
The Temple Mount.
Lost cause.
Lay it Rendered.
The coastal glow of brothel Tel Aviv?
The borderlands,
the broader cause he ran to,
The Darkness
Laced of mostly bobbles dreaming dreams he might achieve.
The knucker scars,
Rewind, the
Behind the Lod Prison plex glass and steel painted bars.
The knuckle scars,
Behind the bars, his face has born the grind.
And now
The View!
From Lod Prison.
Has erased that highly-held ideal from out his mind
KAKH MEH OATI
My freedom is for nothing.
KAKH ME OUTI
My love is wasteful chemicals.
But take me not from my Zion!
My green hills, my sand hills, my river Yordan; my gold lion.
But take me not back to babylon,
On train or plane to exile.
KAHK MEH OATI
And she said once that “Zions road is rocky.”
Our enemies are constant and creep on us unseen,
Tempt again the wrath,
The wrath of Israel, AND YOUR CUT WILL BE FNAL!
Your cut will be with those unclean.
“Brutal”, she had told me on a payphone.
Whisper to her:
Of wild passion,
My lover fail me not,
Don’t die inside.
If your vision compels, in rebel yells.
It stirs the sleeping hearts of dead men.
Song of Songs!
Wrongest of all wrongs!
EXILE!
Remember!
What we came here to do,
THE NAME!
Forgot mine?
“The NAME remembers you.”
How I miss you, as you languish now in Lod Prison not even one foot on your native land and you will be sent back.
I miss you dearly, you are still where you belong.
And I breathe life back into you
To sustain your beat and fill your lungs,
I will catch you each time you fall
The road
The depiction
The road
The road has broken your insane contradiction?
Prepare to take all
You weren’t there in the garden
You will still be here in the fall
Who is like you amongst the G-ds that are worshipped?
Who is with us at this very last wicked hour,
Where Humanity lies broken,
Full prostrate
in whore-ship.
Dread your locks a few times timely,
Glisten yellow shimmer noon,
Darkness hue dies to follow you,
your powers from the moon.
Pump parable or parabellum?
First virtue? Into nights declare.
The measure of the manger?
Is to question God; you dare?
Wet skin, nights of white something; like an endless dreidel spin;
Conspire all your violence.
And justify your sin.
Hunt me, Zealot,
“I will find you.”
I can roll like forty in a clip,
Bone dice Solver, problem with revolver,
In case your lip is prone to slip.
“Unleash me!”
With Discretion!
“Run we ragged with your plan!”
I’m Sicarri, I’m Akira, I’m your ruthless dagger man.
And we did it for the martyrs,
For the children of the stones.
Let fly upon Goliath as he seeks to break your bones.
Lay your claw upon our homes?
Lay your boot upon my children’s neck?
Lay your rockets on our Iron domes.
Seize our lands?
Come a-crazed,
Murderous ways,
Come out sharp blades, come out fists; come out home-made hand grenades,
Come psalms on smashed legs, come suras on dust and sand.
Come to the “Holy Land”,
Come cut out my legs but I will still manage to fight you, to stand.
Your books taught you murderous ways!
Rocks? Blades? Bombs? Rat tat tat!
July is here! Your land or my land?
Smash the foundations on which you stand.
I am the Lion.
Not the Dos.
Shtarker-Bielski-Seigel,
Romans with their eyes cut out,
Staring down my barrel?
Death on all your idols, be you bear or be you eagle.
Catch me now?
I’m falling.
My hands are once again stained,
And the blood I spilled, and the blood you spilled;
For those I killed, for those you killed;
Every fucking summer let’s make it making it fucking rain!
“Like they did to us in Old Spain?”
“Like Saudis on a plane!”
“For what you people did when rocks reigned?”
“And what we all do.”
It can now never be restrained.
“I’m a Malcolm. I’m a demon. I’m a Panther. I’m a killer.
“Ball bearings get attention!”
Shabab:
Slit your ruthless water-bearing pitcher filler,
MARK ME BABEL!
Pierce my best intentions.
Burn me, bleed me. Run me like rain.
But I’ll make your talon guts exposed a sanguine paste,
As we did upon that train.
Choose to breathe us German.
Occupy our skins.
White slaves and black slaves are slaves sold,
Can’t read a book?
Can’t see the past from the future,
Boy-Can’t read but you’re how old?
Engage us, tempt us, taunt us, bribe us, to reside in Babel’s towers,
With our whole religion bought and our whole religion sold.
A Banshee boy?
Oh, I can howl for nights or days,
A Banshee Boy from Brooklyn?
In soldier garb?
Gift bag my gab,
In fable dred my stories,
In stories dred by stab.
But I can howl,
From the burning slums of Portmore to the burning slums of Warsaw, As I relearned my religion in Lod Prison.
To rapist rivers in between
Long memory
She promised me, will make my people mean.
As I relearned my religion in Lod Prison.
Dvotkcka!
And Tvarish,
All our soldiers Jabo-Hai.
Warble swords and dragoons flying,
I text MOBILIZE.
And the enemy proceeds to die.
Strip-tease a people with your powers,
“We can set your Ark ablaze!”,
That new girl got ass for days.
That new girl just flipped your cover.
The new girl works for 2,000 shekels,
Honey trapped Hababi,
Cook you imam with X-rays?
I’ve gutted 90 Cossacks.
I’ve scalped me: 30 Nazi.
Before you end your bloody daze.
An obsession with repression?
Absurd to live in ghettos as we did and do,
Still, call each other “Jew”?!
but that’s the Roman word for N$g&er,
But as soon as I am released from this Lod Prison,
I went and relearned my true religion,
I’m called Judean!
I’m called Ivree,
I’m called Hebrew, never Jew.
Black hats? White people made you wear them.
Black fucking hats?
Made of Forrest rats, made of trash, made of screw.
Black hats?
White dice!
Black lungs?
White lives lie about your raped wife
Bello Russian savage cries.
Black hats?
White lies, learn to take their children from them if one single Hebrew baby cries.
I wipe my ass with the blue and yellow flag,
Babi Yar boy?
I wipe my ass with your plagiarized hood books,
Stolen each word from my tribe.
Cool religions the white people gave you,
Drink up your Jesus blood: IMBIBE?
Did your Jesus write in Latin?
Do you people still listen to Nuns?
How many priests are in jail for fucking your sons?
Strip tease a people with your powers!
We have set your Ark ablaze,
Count the days, count the numbers.
Count your goyish ways.
As I relearned my religion in Lod Prison!
Mark your doors in crimson,
Bind that sign upon your hand,
At the very moment of our rising,
Fly 300 magic carpets wreaking chaos on your land.
300 Magic carpets toward that castle where you stand.
Cause I,
Can marshal struggle people, blade mento hit yo nowhere you hide,
Yer Iron Heel,
Yer Iron Dome?!
We all know in which towers you reside.
From the bunkers deep in Sinai,
To the Tiyeled of Tel Aviv,
No quarter asked or given
Not a tear to be bled or shed,
But I still can grieve!
I do not even often wish my enemy dead.
I wish to marshall all that terror.
I wish to marshall the dead.
The real terror is in a real war,
Brought by the men of the grove with no care.
the war of the Westfalian states,
I war shall I dare to say: is coming between the eagle, dragon, and bear.
Beware.
I will live to see you dead.
Call Ze’ev, or call Ben David,
Call Nasrallah, or even call back Saaladin.
Attempt to break a stiff-necked chosen people,
We will end by breaking everything:
Cousin, how now! As-Salaam Akleum;
Long time coming.
It doesn’t end so well
Sugar Cain and Able?
Isaac and Ishmael?
PART II
On Day Two:
View from a Lod Prison
Detained at Ben Gurion, nothing in this prison to say or to do.
You’re probably in a secret place,
The prison by the airport,
They’re looking into a theory on you.
“Bound for Gaza, Tvarish?”
But where the means make the ends.
You will sit in this cell block until we determine,
The number and nature of your Arab friends.
Gypsey Gunner rosey devil,
Do you know how far I’d run?
Dagger Man Engagements?
Stop it now,
You’re flying towards the sun!
Stilling living underground and on the run?
Why do you still stare into the sun?
Who made you think a gun was fun?
And the lines he keeps on using as he forgets his human rights and lust complete wrong?
Sold his soul to Satin?
Or the idea of Russian Blondes in Satin,
Or a devil’s gift of swan song.
But the devil is no creature.
Just a figment of the less you,
Calling you is you to keep on silent, call you: you,
is never mind the iron heel, the Amazon is flowing, what’s the coolest pricing on the latest sweat shop shoe?
Calling you to happy silence.
Calling you to selfish touches of nothing life.
Til you face plan and wrist knife.
Til you buy some kind of suitable flat, have some kids, and settle down on a wife.
The self-selfish devil do nothing.
Cant take to Milk River all the things you have bought.
Like when it’s your sword, that runs through your heart in your ever worst thought or recurring throught.
Your vanity, a deadly killer too.
Just have the last word, have the last fruit of the ego, and think nothing through.
Your vanity, is a kind of deadly killer too.
Your wasteds weat, your needless sweet words, your still taking too long as a human,
Why you living like this?
Why you letting the Oligarchs do what they do.
Ask yourself; in retrospect
What in that Lod Airport went wrong?
But for a Gypsey, for Salwa, for Birdy, for Meli; you were at your lowest low point, running empty no poems or sing song.
Ask yourself:
Is it really your land?
Why is that concept so wrong to ask or to overstand?
Touching Gaza.
Puffing sin.
They had you pegged.
Red, black, white, and green loving.
The instant you landed!
The instant you walked in to walk out deported!
Empty-handed!
Remember the Romans and Germans.
Never forget.
“Did it humble you yet?”
Did it show you what complicated thinking we will get?
One ounce of your tears is stil not a drop or regret.
Did it humble you when your invented birthright was stripped like the panties of a Tel Aviv Hooker,
Did you get a little upset, yet?
Did it teach you a lesson?
Did you 9-11 style. Never forget?
You’re a Hebrew
“Not a Jew”,
They Ashkenazi are running the country for you,
the county is emperors clothes,
the country is armed by the American Jews, the Jewish State is barely still Jewish in the see through.
Did the silent stairs of Y and Y, your gibberish mumbled in between, did it make you learn you’re not welcome here!!
Did Tvarish Alon’s offer and temptation merit the Magavnikimm stomp?
Merit the side pick in between;
A kick in your face is still not as bad as ripping out nails or a few months in a box, or a poison to shut down your spleen.
“So what I mean?”
“Brav where do you actually stand?”
And he takes me to the yard for a Noblisse cigarette.
Did you ever ask for forgiveness? As what you could or should have been doing for your country on some other person’s old land?
Promised to who land?
Promised!
To bleed until nearly the end of the world for a Jerset-sized olive field; embattled watch tower,
And the Amerikanski neocolonial expansion:
Expand!
This is the truth in its innermost parts,
“This is IT!”
“You’re insolent shit.”
“You’re a valueless beggar!”
Ben zona.
“Jah should well destroy you. Where you traitorous stand!”
“You’re no actual Jew! This isn’t even your land.”
Is this the beginning, or is it the last part of the end?
Make a 4,000 Skel depost,
“Sign the paperwork here!”
Make a line item of all of their safe houses.
Make your loyalties clear,
Happy with every American rubel your compatriot spends:
Just make a list of your contacts:
“What Jew will vouch for you”:
“Who do you really think is your true Arab friend…”
Ben Zona:
Tell me in the View of Nothing out the cell in Lod Prison;
What is bad about remembering everything?
What is bad
About knowing when did it all end or began?
What good?
What have you made for the house of humanity?
What you could do?
In frail form and 27 years served.
“What powers do you have that your G-D hasn’t given you?”
MIKAMOKAH,
“I Eloheim have the power to make your heart pump,
To make your many hearts work whole.”
MIKAMOKAH.
Only I can make you see or rest you back from death or sleep.
Remember?
You remember.
In Lod Prison, you stopped being a fake Jew
And became a whole man.
WALTER SEBASTIAN ADLER 
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