Category Archives: Poetry

6 O’




There’s festering green schlep
On the cream cheese for my bagel
I stare at the gunk on the knife
It smells like STD spirit
Empathy ugliness
And no one wants to eat you.
To the garbage—yet another bill
My internal moanologues
Drowning out PBS
Something about Srebrenica
Remember that?
Catch a glimpse
I feel cursory shallowness
Watching hungry armless children


Crumbs lodge in toothy gaps
My daily neurosis
Often in competition
With too-thin unloved blondes of soperas


Is beginning to hurt my eyes.
But I, Validation Junkie
Am unwilling to take the blame
Of changing the channel.
It is so easy to go in one direction and then,
Still go there.
An uninterested life,
Suddenly caked
In jaundiced cream cheese.


In unprecedented 8 degrees
Do not attempt to remove internal thermometer


Ha Ha Ha Ha
I heave
Dry, phlegm-less vomit
Rib cage hurts
Shoulders sag


Conventional wisdom
Seek Annan’s manhood
Defy the figurehead, Brother
Resuscitate the organization
Keep peace
Don’t enforce it!




30 Peacekeepers > 30,000 Muslims
Mozlems, Mozlems, who are they??
NATO fashionably late
To this Slabomêlée
The request was on a wrong form
Fuel was thirsty
Let’s triplicate!
Punctual Milosevic
When merciful
Shot us down
In the streets


The __ Clock Bombing

A camcorder’s vision of sitting on one’s hands.


You are far too good-looking!
Who could cleanse your ethnicity?
So much for the home court advantage
And of being male!


Let the children be
Passports to freedom
From everything.
But what about Aicha my rabbit Ma?
Let’s smoke the peace cigarette.
Ma I am hungry, and it is getting cold here.


I won’t be your last cigarette UN Enforcer!
Keep standing
Arms folded in supplication
Drink my wine
You instill the power in the Rat King.


Control S
Allah wont save You
We, who, even paid for the fuel
Will not survive this, Gloria…
Side Airbags: that is the answer to everything.


A promise on paper napkins
Made over drinks
In a silent forest
While we ran for cover
40 mile > 15, 000 Marchers
Where is the promised homeland?
Presents exchanged
Heinekens tossed
Danced in the puke blue caps
Muscling legs


We, here
We, made dinners


7,414 men no longer exist.
Only 70 have been identified
And returned to families.


Why can’t I rid my mouth of mold?


The Shape of Things

You don’t like to talk, you say

And I like to listen

Silences will be deep, you chuckle

Intoxicated slights of imagination

Unfold your stories anyway

Time falls

Summer, comforter, proximity

No longer enough

To control

Traffic in my timbers

You caress my heels

Unhooking anklets

No one needs to be cold, you say

Bells sing in my ears

This is how you knew

The shape of things

This is when I knew

I’d stay

Farwell Iqbal Bano…Music Died With You

Necessary Chaos

Bitter are the words we use

When we admit

That we love someone

Ashamed accents

Thought of surrender

In these times

Such a sin

We prefer our pickled existence

Swimming in vinegar

So much more focused a job

(Energetic, complicated)

Than lying in a beloved’s arms

Engrossed in therapeutic naked confessionals

For if we all healed ourselves

What would the shrinks of the Upper East Side do?

Who would fill up office spaces with pleather?

Why would anyone care about anybody else’s business?

When the only juice that matters

Is the one between you and me

Religion, tenets, isms, hyperbole

Would be flushed down the toilet bowl

In God’s master bathroom

Where would the world be then

As we know it today?

Corridors we rushed through

Would bear silent homage

To unheard footsteps

Elevators which shot us up

To our corporate images

Saturated with cast-off pin-stripes

Sophistication we lived by

Blown away

In the smoke you & I create

There may occur


Would I then

Care about the muscular strength of your ideas?

When the whole world has gone

Hare Rama Hare Krishna

And would you love

My vulnerability?

When it can be bought in tepid bucket-loads

At your nearest, friendly, drug store

Would anyone be tranquil?

If that was the way the world swayed?

Necessary becomes chaos

To have pockets of peace

Even if lined with lint

And overwhelmed

By the mothballed odor of preservation

Seldom used

Unless in




Et tu Brutus?


Caesar ceases to think

Only lives on as a legend

Manifested through hardcore marketing

And a parasitic estate

Which refuses to go hungry

By letting a dead man die

But I am still alive

Feel me

Still breathing

I am not the 10

Contrived out of myth

Just a catastrophe

Molded so

By other accidents

Often forgetting

There is more to me

Until you remind me

And I get lost

In the nutrasweet of your liquid voice

To wake-up again

Translucent stains

The only proof that you were here…

Stumbling through a somnambulist’s haze

I enter His bathroom

To purge


My life force

Drains away

In a weightless sound

Which only You can hear

But refuse to

For We both know

I am a compulsive screamer