In Our Mixed Municipal Council

In Our Mixed Municipal Council

“The art is shit, but the cheese plate was amazing.”

The first and last anti-art conference was held yesterday,

three clicks left from the Wailing Wall,

between a mosque and a halfway house.

“An atomic bomb on Jerusalem would solve a lot,”

a radical pacifist with white shorts and a Hawaiian shirt shouts

from the top of Moria Mountain.

A crafty American poses with a pillar of salt,

down in Jericho,

seven times

around and rides into the casino.

African pilgrims zoom down the River Jordan on black inner tubes.

“Masada will not fall a second time.”

the awning sign for the new timeshare hotel is flapping in the

Judean desert wind. Bedouins zip by driving 85’ Subarus

(the real ship of the desert).

A new toll road has been built,

Via Della Rosa Via Mea Shearim,

left on Al-Aqsa ending at the Baha’i Temple,

overlooking the

harbor where 5,000 sailors are getting off the boat and into an old

hooker’s lap.

The Russian Boyars are melting in the sun. They transform into an

abstract expression of their former selves. One of them is

named Stalingrad. He owns some benches in Tel Aviv.

Jaffa’s clock tower is two hours ahead, it is almost time for

Shacharit, or that is what I think the muezzin said.

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Etan Nechin, an Israeli born writer and poet, living and working in Brooklyn, NYC and recently attended a summer residency at the Iowa Writer's Workshop. He has published in The Huffington Post, MutualArt, London Mouth magazine and an essay is featured in a recent issue ofGravel Magazine. We welcome his ink energy to our pages.