Ali Znaidi


Ali Znaidi






Towards a Dialogical Linguistics of the Moon


She sat on the grass breastfeeding her baby, while looking at the moon.

She kept looking at the moon: The whole story up till now unrecognizable.

The moon here is not her moon. Her moon instead something dialogical.

Her baby’s continuous sighs distracted her, so she couldn’t focus on

the moon. Those sighs meant NO point of view. What’s the point in

a story that pays NO attention to her point of view? No harmony. Not

enough hormones. Just nostalgia and moans—Just merciless headlines. NO

communication. Everything is different. Once again she looked at

the moon, while holding a broken twig and orienting to an unknown

orientation. Is this what she’s looking for—something new, a moon less

shiny than her own moon, her own moon, her own moon, a land devoid of

her own utterances? Or is it another kind of death, a final echo, a final

simulacrum of a voice? But to whom the moon beams pour down onto

the grass? Really to whom the moon beams change? Then there was silence.




Longing for Newer Versions


A bathtub is not just a container that you fill w/ water

& use to wash your body.  A bathtub is not a place at

which you arrive dirty and from which you depart clean.


A bathtub is a place where you search for another body

especially when being told that your bod,,,;;;y  is not

your real body or that it is a home field of aversions.


Even fashion models are obsessed w/ plastic surgeries. In

fact, obsessed w/ newer versions.  They can be infatuated

to the verge of bathos: Just a longing for sedative path[o]s.






We are not ourselves anymore. We are

mere fragmented collage selfies.

In an Etsy of simulacra everyone’s mind


is burdened w/ a materialistic vision

& intrigue. That same still. That same

footage.  How often do we recollect


our vintage black & white photos?

Really, how oftentimes? We put our

retro images in wax museums.


Dancing w/ the wind. Could we be

just disintegrated pixels in pursuit of

life & suits that aren’t our own?


Perfect faces. An asymmetrical mirage.

Embellished faces looking out the windows

of a speedy metro train, or to be precise, meteor.













Ali Znaidi (b.1977) lives in Redeyef, Tunisia. He is the author of several chapbooks, including Experimental Ruminations (Fowlpox Press, 2012), Moon’s Cloth Embroidered with Poems (Origami Poems Project, 2012), Bye, Donna Summer! (Fowlpox Press, 2014), Taste of the Edge (Kind of a Hurricane Press, 2014), and Mathemaku x5 (Spacecraft Press, 2015).


His interests include poetry writing, making visual poems, learning languages and literary translation. He also blogs about Tunisian literature at:


For more details you can visit his blog at –


and follow him on Twitter @AliZnaidi.



Copyright: Ali Znaidi


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