Postcard from Sanibel
A shell seeker who bends down from the waist,
nipples bid the wind good day
A shell seeker who bends down from the waist,
nipples bid the wind good day
Let us sing of heroes, inducted into a land of zombies,
vampires, crooked cops, drug dealers, military forces of occupation,
each room set up to teach another cruelty of the human heart
what a Chabad past telephone poles to the top of the World Trade Tower brought me back down to earth thinking it wasn’t me who blew out the candles
My port-a-potty, but right now not feeling proud being related to Sarah, Rachel and Miriam, daughter of Lilith, member of an ancient tribe
Data security week, I celebrate by taking my computer to lunch
There are no more brooms to burn.
No more truncated truces.