Translated from Arabic by the author and Norbert Hirschhorn1.Writing hurts.The blood dripping down tv screenpoisons air,stains couch with what looks likedried coffee. We touch, trembling,afraid of infection.Our backs bent as if descending to hell,red brown rust spotsreflect on our faces.We rub heads, turn away,and lick salt tears.They who crawl street screenleave green traces tarmac,which burst...