doing one’s best in crane city

my exit wound bleeds doha,
a sandcastle growing taller
keeping up with the rising gulf.

the fast food restaurants and hotels,
look to forget the miles of desert
surrounding them.

great spacious houses stand firm
by infinite empty highways; only dashes of cinnamon dust
blend the colour scheme...

no stars today, or yesterday.
in the foggy night sky   we only make up red
lights scattered in every direction;

the cranes abundant, ever moving, ever changing...

when the malls dripping in gold hues
no longer blinds us.

we turn to the corners of our home
to remember where we are...

a place where the sand collects inexplicably.

doors locked   windows closed.

a call from the dunes surrounding the city.

... we're coming ... we're here ... in your lungs...

it's no threat, no question, just reality...

doing one’s best in crane city

i look up to the sta- to the cranes,
wonder where it is i am. they say
a desert babe... they say,  just   doing your best in it...