I keep my little principality tidy. Like Genghis Kahn’s nuns, I am a part of a war nation, having no real land or location, taking pain out in ever widening circles. Shouldn’t I travel as the hordes did, living off the conquered, carrying only my broom, a war nation against my own.  It doesn’t take much really. You only have to be hungry and willing to do what it takes to get fed. 

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There is no such thing as weather. On the off-chance that it rains, I will remember the indelible mark upon a winter pond where we would skate to music in our heads. The lamp of God was healing to a water deeper than some misplaced months.

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Danielle took my hand in hers,
“I can feel them,” she whispered,
then dressed in a silence
I did not know how to break

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My trick wants to go to Plato's.
We go to the old Ansonia Baths
where a thousand gay men fucked
a thousand times a night for years.
Now it is Plato's Retreat; no single men are allowed without a date.

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“Jewboy, hey you there”

I pause and quietly say, “excuse me?”

“You don’t fool me jewboy” says Mel Gibson

Then slightly softer and glancing in the mirror as if impatient, “you want a ride?”

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