# Anis Mojgani and his Poetry



## thehigher (Apr 20, 2009)




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## TurranMC (Sep 15, 2009)

I watched the second and third and thought they were very very good.


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## babblingbrook (Aug 10, 2009)

wow just wow

Thanks a lot.

This quickly became my favourite poem:





Milos by Anis Mojgani

Let us take a sack of spray paint and spray paint over the paintings.
Let us dance through Paris;
kiss in the shadow of the Louvre,
crawl inside its windows,
to scroll manifesto's over its canvass's,
write morse code on the sculptures,
roll a sleeping bag on the floors to sleep inside of, 
tell one another a story by flashlight,
unearth everything from before,
bury each other inside the other,
feed grapes to the ants,
light fireworks in the fists of sleeping kings; 
kill a monarch.
Break back outside and find a world to do all these same things to up and upon against break the bricks
climb over them
and when the sirens scream,
laugh aloud, hold my hand and run fast.
Run through the streets with me with a bunch of bottles,
a bucket of gasoline,
a mouthful of matches,
a pocket full of paintings and fresh faced batch of policemen that chase the fires we are lighting,
laugh on a shoulder of gold.
And i thought that the museums where cemetaries where the dead paid the wall to hold what we have so that we could walk through what we once were,
And children take their skulls to turn into gardens,
to pluck for forefathers and farther stars,
that on some nights resemble an armless mother praying for her arms to return.
Every tooth we tear from our jaw to fling at the black gloved riot soldiers as another shadow that we are trying to lose.
Let every giggle be filled with lust; 
let us laugh this night away and i will fuck you like you were a prayer.
I could save me by having my mouth around you,
and i will hold you afterwards like you were the pulpit and i was the sky,
and this love that danced between that hardness was a telephone line of holiness that those two things spoke through.
Take me into your heart like i was a saint,
and you were a face of forgiveness blooming in a valley destined to sink further.
Be a river with me;
Be the storm;
the bend in the path;
the front porch; 
the heat in the south;
be a boot full of banjo strings;
a fistfull of written songs;
a mouthfull of chocolate dust.
When they come to take us,
stab them between the eyes.
Do not take your hand from around mine.
Make a fist with the other, and punch spines like guilds, spit, sweat, kiss them like a grandmother. 
How will open mouthed terror love filled?
And when they come to cut out hair and ask to hear penance come from inside us,
say with me loud and trembling,
but loud and clear:
"i have already emptied myself. 
I kissed regret goodbye, 
took the hands of another backwards angel, and rode backwards into the rain"
When the hangman of morrow comes to hang the sun in its daily execution say this with me: 
"'Sarah, we are apples, 
our love is an arrow; 
I'm unbuttoning my shirt; 
painting a circle over my heart, 
please, just shoot straight."


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