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Say what you will, a human being has the right to their own body.

By the time the sun was barely over the trees, they’d started burning.

Our ambition was a clawing, grasping thing. It got us out of bed.

And the starved heart starts over, writing one line at a time.

A memory in the drip, drip, drip of the kitchen sink that won’t stop.

Let father be a man walking to the river, ready to bargain with water.

“The kiels take extra time, but then you know your meats. Questions?”

Trump reminded me of the guys I grew up with on Long Island.

We could use our arms to squeeze or hold or load not a gun, not a gun.

“No, no,” we say. “We’re fine! Really! We love things just the way they are!”

He’s not the skinny hippie all the paintings make Him out to be.

“You know what they say about
free health care. It costs money.”

The man said in a hard voice, “I wanna fuck you, little Indian girl.”

A small circle of friends and family babysat so she could go to school.

there is no place on this earth I can run from my own prejudice

Lydda, when she closes her eyes, has traded one war zone for another.

The girls got drunk, danced to Russian karaoke under disco-light glitz.

I was opposed to the taking of human life. I was opposed to all war.

My job requires me to make things disappear like a Vegas magician.

won’t you celebrate with me that every day has tried to kill me

Without a working title, a poem could muddle meaning, confuse purpose.

No one else ever seemed to mind working side-by-side a murderer.