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Slide One
A photograph. A tube of lipstick. A napkin with a faded kiss, smudged and bruised like the one upon my lips.

Slide Two
A broken fingernail. A chunk of thinning hair, greasy and dead, unattended like the child in the back of a van as the mother collapses in the dairy aisle of Walmart. A matchbook with only one unbroken match remaining.

Slide Three
An unsmoked cigarette. A business card with a street address hastily scratched onto the back. A pill without any identifying features, the urge to swallow and determine its psychotropic level almost too difficult to resist.

Slide Four
A set of keys. A crumpled piece of paper with nothing on it but a series of numbers, not enough of them to make a call. A coffee stain where the page was torn.

Slide Five
A knife, rusty by the handle and blade dull, but still sharp enough to break skin. Blood. If this was a collection of evidence in a trial, this might be the murder weapon. They might be testing the blood to see who it belongs to, test the blade to see whose hand committed these atrocities. But there is no question.

The knife, the blood. The lipstick on the tissue, the lost piece of the manicure that cost me more than the shoes on my feet. The pill, its identification forgotten, sitting in the bottom of my purse as I contemplate whether to try it. The keys to my apartment.

One victim, all harmed by the same hand—dry and calloused, in desperate need of the near empty bottle of hand lotion sitting on the gritty counter of the bathroom sink. A series of phases in one person’s life, the blunt blade failing to sever the point where they connect. A cough of ash into porcelain as the last match – now torn from the stem – disappears down the drain.

One last look into the mirror, the crack almost unnoticeable under the level of grime, hiding the imperfections in my marred gaze. The door slams shut behind me as I step into the noisy bustle of the sleepless city to seek yet another means of destruction. There is no question.

Just remember: I was a boy when you left.
If you came to me now, you would find an old man.
If only Daedalus would lend me his wings of audacity,
wings to fly, to soar to you. I have, yes, been designing a flying machine.
To sweep through the Venetian air, cross the Giocondan ramparts– to see you.
Once, once more, Sweetness. Thought you could pack up your Smile, & leave me?
Yet– look there– it remains! With me! Blessing me! Cursing me– with hope: you will return.
Smiling. Ever smiling. Come ba-a-a-a-a-ck to me.
You were cruel, to leave. For I loved you with Everything. All my thoughts. All my Heart.
All my Hope. All my Soul. Each day I awaken, to your eyes. Your eyes welcome me. Your
face guides me. Your mouth teaches me.
So many new maps to navigate this new world– but for my world–
only one, true compass– your face. Your smile.
Your eyes, come to clasp hands with mime.
When I’d press my ear to you, the pounding of my heart would move in rhythm to yours.
Until you’d hear my heart– pounding– inside you.
Pressed so close. This close. Just like this. You kiss. This day.
So many days– seasons– years– We’d work hard. To en-capture your smile.
On this bit of canvas. We invented: new paints. New colors. New brushstrokes.
Layering on your smile. Alchemy became our sorcerer of wizardry. Our genie.
Serving us this primordial cry. This grimace. This Smile. Toil became our wine, our bread,
our sacrament. “Smile for me.” Am left– bereft. Am left –alone.
With just shreds of what you wore. To make you smile. For me. Forever.

Have painted your face in a blue-green landscape of blue and green, cool tones so they will
outlast the yellowing of time: This landscape of Barren cliffs and roaming waters–
You watched me paint one line outward. Just one, thin bridge where a man might cross.
—To escape from a visit to the Circean wonders of you.
No he can’t. No, I can’t. That face– you see it? Look close– designed by nature?
By God? By me? Or by you, my love– to lure me in?
To Mysterious loving & gradual embracing.
Always taking me in, always welcoming, forever loving, understanding–.
& Comforting. Always possessing with heart and soul, your body, those eyes!
And, that smile. Is it a smile? No one, no one, no one Knows.
Here– with me–I see all my life was– is– all my life IS you.
My life– all I am -the substance of my life– is, you. Where did you go?
To Venice? Or back to the Tuscany of your youth? Why leave? When you went through that
door– you took my life– my world. Now when I lift the window up, or pull the door open–
Only a shadow of you returns.
Through the window; the door: your shadow haunts everything.
I wander searching –imagining you might be– behind the mirror,
or in this pale pale capturing of you. I see you as if in the mirror, the one up there–
the one intended brings in more light, to flush out the darkness why can’t! it! Bring! In! You!
You are not yet dead to me. That, is my curse. I want you back. Till then?
-I live like a Copernicus: Waiting for a comet: hoping to be alive when you return.

So acute is this sharp parting—
an iceberg calves from my heart.

This cold mass does not flee—
it hoe-harrows a steeper scarp.

I am that holy man.
Drifting through the desert,
mud cracks rayed in all directions—
cutting my feet.

I am that anchorite.
Fed through a rusty grate
chained—
in my nesting cell.

In that high house in San Francisco he died:
So lone so soon so young.

Small bread knife parings sour water
all—
grind to ashes in my mouth.

In between the Gaza tents
pitched by refugees many times over
the children and grandchildren of refugees
trying to survive their hunger and thirst
have a thrift store
that carries my belongings

take my things
and love them

my favorite blue shirt
a pair of dusty shoes
my son’s crumpled poetry book
a plastic doll with no arm
they were dug up from the rubble of my home
As we lay crushed under the marble slab
from our kitchen counter
I was cooking a meal for my children
when the Israeli drone entered our home through the window
Its glass blown out long ago
by the bombing.
It hovered over us, its tentacles loud and menacing
buzzing incessantly
before it dropped its bomb
and flew away.

Snow White,
Circling the sky
In search of messengers
To show them the way to newfound
Freedom

I have bacteria growing in my head.
That’s what I call it now—
Bacteria.
Too alive to be imagined,
Too cunning to be mine.

They scanned my skull
After the incident—
Bright white lights,
Machines that hummed like lies.
“Everything looks normal.”
And that—that—
Is what frightens me most of all.

There’s something in there,
Squirming just behind my eyes,
Beneath the bone pulsing
In the quiet, watching.

Are we all just meat puppets,
Flesh vessels
Piloted by parasites
Coded in wet grey?

If my head moves my limbs,
But the thing inside
Is not me—
Then what am I?
Where do I begin?
Where do I live?

Am I the passenger
In this nest of nerves?
Or the parasite itself,
Squatting in a borrowed form?

I stare at my reflection—
Too long.
It looks human.
Almost.
There’s a delay.
A twitch.
A mimic’s stutter.

I tested it.
Skin, thigh—clean.
Arm—nothing.
Shoulder—blank.
But the stomach—
It moved.

It slid.
Slick and warm.
Like seaweed
That thinks.
It dove deeper,
Hiding.
Playing.

It knew I was coming.

Now it curls inside me,
A knot of nerves,
A wet fist of thought,
Threading itself
Through marrow and lung,
Lacing its hunger
Through my spine,
My teeth.

I scream—
But the voice is not mine.
I move—
But something else decides.

I claw
At floors,
At walls,
At the air—
Every plank,
Every surface
It might nest behind.

I will find it.
Tear it from its bone-cage.
Rip the truth from sinew.
Gut this thing
Even if it’s all that’s left.
Even if it’s me.

I will peel myself back
Layer by layer—
Until I see what’s real.
Until there’s nothing left to hide in.
Until I know—

Am I the parasite
Or just the shell it hollowed out?

farewell dragon fly
hovering above a pond
their wings casting wakes

The left says its men’s fault
The right says its women’s fault.

Incomplete.

It is our fault.

And more specifically,
Yours.

You.
Reading this.

It’s your fault.

Here’s the truth:

Every man
Has the possibility of being a violent,
Abusive,
Raping,
Serial killer
Who will peel off your skin and wear it for a coat.

Every woman
Has the possibility of being a conniving,
Abusive,
Betraying,
Gold digger
Who will take you for all your worth and leave you in the dirt.

This is not a problem of men or women.
This a human problem.

What do both of you want,
Actually?

Do you even know it?
I’ll tell you,
Because most of you are too cowardly to say.

You want certainty.
You want a promise.
You want a guarantee.

Here’s the truth boys and girls,
The only people who offer guarantees
Are selling something.

Because in the real world,
There are no guarantees.

Everything you have,
Everything you will have,
Everything you could have-

All of it-
Can,
And will,
Be taken away.

You are going to die,
And lose everything.

But if you spend your entire life
Demanding that life give you things
That it will not,

When your last breath is drawn,
It will be with regret.

Imagine casting in The Truman Show. Unbeknownst to you, your Truman…“Who all actually knows?” Misspoken lies and glamorized illusions…Are characterized by distorted confusions. Unfolding truths, opened realms… Of seeing others on repeat. Such defeat overwhelmes. Temperament in roles … unknowingly holds.

Strenuous hours on unanchored actors…Produced spectators with a grin and hands that read “traitor”. Participating in unordained events… That doesn’t protect all in its covenant… Represents a weakened system, only ruling for consumption. Vamping energy…Like it’s nothing.

Flaunting to amplify propaganda…Through entangled projections. Anything it takes, to increase views rating.

Grand exposures are met with lane closures… Unintended malfunctions got trafficked in manipulative conjunctions.

Interconnecting… Sought interconnection. Which interconnected, the moment of clarity. Third eye insight. Vanity!!! The type that doesn’t just flow …Grows.

A dissector is not supposed to overreact once it is registered. Divine time is supposed to teach. Lessons from failed actions, when acting.

Unaware of deceptions deceit. Unturnable effects… Leaving a stain of regret. That smell must reeks!

When the scripted tasks…siphoned energy, that heightened senses …Which could determine, whose foe? Enemy…?

Look through, that is hoping to pamper from someone else’s consolidation… Focus on you. By any means necessary, dead the notion of moving ineffectively. Checker in… chess moves, that brings positive in revelation. An Indescribable interpretation… Disguised as the attempt to reclaim classification.

Signify a thrill…When the blindness prevented the reveal. Stagnation of forwardness, discredit the attempt of an emotional death. Deluding realness, will not disenfranchise trueness.

I wanted to thank you.
I wanted to thank you for all the fun we had
The walks we took, the restaurants we went to, the drives,
Fighting with you, playing with you,
Me running after you and you running after me.
Watching television with you.
Just sitting with you.
I wanted to thank you for all the delicious food you gave me,
My food, your food—anything that caught my eye–knowing that just a little bit wouldn’t hurt.
(I did love roast beef and barbecued chicken!)
I wanted to thank you for caring about me
Taking me to have my hair done and waiting for me
Taking me to the doctor and waiting for me
Taking me to the hospital and waiting for me.
Taking care of me until the very end.
Yes, I always knew you’d be there.
I’m sorry I couldn’t say all this to you before—but words don’t come easily to me.
I’m patiently waiting for you now, as I always did, knowing we’ll meet again.
Yes, I really, really was a lucky dog.
Sincerely, Momele, the Shih Tzu
(2010-2025)