Other Non-fiction

the ultimate choice

terrifying to the eyes
of the child,
no matter the age,
is the sharp circle of
life ready to
decapitate us
when the parent,
the caregiver,
the one whose life we
depended on, the one

fat
ass
has-
been
still
trying
to
get our
attention
by wearing
a bra made of
guns
after kids
have
continued to be
slaughtered
in this empire
that has made
her fucking
money---

remember these rich kids
who moved from downtown
Manhattan,
after the towers fell,
out into the uncharted territories of
Bushwick & those regions of
Brooklyn, which had once been

A friend's experience prompts ruminations on this most unique of human animal.

I’m angry at my friends again over a silly little thing

when it happened,
when s/he did it,
for those that considered
themselves to have
known him/her,
it devastated,
because death is for the
living,
any way you slice it---

s/he sees a difference
emerging
(wants to explain but
doesn’t feel s/he can ask
questions, wants to
understand but knows
there are no answers to be
had without asking said
questions),

this taboo,
this forbidden place,
this thing that
western
“liberal”
“democratic”
“holy”
“peaceful”
individuals,
groups &
religions,
all frown upon,

the days of miracles and wonders

trying to be yourself
whilst others hold you under the
microscope,
these “patterns” revealed,
those of which do not lend any
conclusions,
are drawn up as if they do,

inevitably cruel & heartless
is the first face that looks upon
a baby with the idea that they are
property,
s/he who is the caregiver,
seeing a child not as something to

whilst things are bad for you
the person close is there &
your sad little tears come raining,
so personal & so dramatic,
flash monsoons in the middle of
a supposed dry season,

When I was a little girl I used to have to be tucked up in bed before the landing light could be turned off, so that when I was left in the dark I knew I was safe.

maybe there’s an inner shame
that s/he doesn’t want to talk about,
maybe a thousand shrinks couldn’t
skin the top of that surface,
but it glows from out the iris when

what brought him to this place
she wants to forget---doesn’t matter,
didn’t matter, because she stood
by her man when it happened &
he had been a great man

saw a demo for the glasses being
developed by Google,
which will be the first step in
the direction of
an “augmented reality”
that will be totally facilitated by

Musings and recollections of my father.

happy new year

a single “truth” would
dispose of her/his motivations,
something so recognizable
that the head could no longer be
turned away,
something that bubbled on the fine