Elevator Pitch Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Elevator pitch

Up to deliver and back from it
I have time to deliver my pitch
In the elevator.

Words and ideas and thoughts
Wrestle Roman or free style,
Or Kick-Box
Fences around the ring; blood everywhere.

What is it?

I am the only one beaten, from every side.

I see the bodies tattooed as if some spotty and
Fluffy cat…a pussy
And I think of shaving…and growing beard
And coloring hair and piercing the clitoris.

And I think of the desert with tracks as is Nazca
And as are in Iran, Hijaz; Sahara in Asia, Africa…
And I see the women walking with clay pots on head
And I hear: "These backward nomads…"
And I recall Sorkhab, Sefidab, Soormeh and Henna, and Khazab
And I remember the story of Kannas passing the perfume market,
And I ask: "When will these Gringos, Yankees and monkeys copy? "
And I recall the words that are now insult, as stupidly as when used
Negro, Nigger…and…and…and Jews.
And the museums I have visited march in my head…what a shame…
Then I think of the words borrowed or stolen, reframed and wrongly used
Cummerbund…caravanserai, bazaar, navy, assassin, and much more…
Dumb are you the monkeys…wrong are you the parrots…
Remember that a dog understands far better than you
…picture how a dog understands your tongue
But you…shit…go to hell…do not use the words like Kismet, Sufi and...
Ganja or paradise or…shut up and go to hell as your politics should…
Your industry is the hellish fire that has burned and has destroyed much
Your technology is the mother of all the problems … yours and made by you…
Time is over and I have had no pitch…
I am flare in the forests of Alberta and California…
I burn Moscow and pave the road for lies:
"We had books that were burned…like…"