Somebody pray for the soldiers.
Somebody pray for what's lost.
Somebody pray for the mailbox
that holds the official letters
to the mothers, fathers,
sisters and little brothers
of Michael 19... Steven 21... John 33.
How ironic that their deaths sound like bible verses.

I know you take issue with me comparing Trump to Hitler. One, a failed painter who blamed the Jewish people for the beauty his heart was too ugly to make. The other, a con artist with enough failed humanity to eye our dying planet and focus on Miss America’s weight.

Your life each time airport security screams, Pink or blue? Pink or blue? trying to figure out which machine setting to run you through. Choosing your life and how that made you into someone who now finds it easy to explain your gender by saying you are happiest on the road, when you’re not here or there, but in-between, that yellow line coming down the center of it all like a goddamn sunbeam.

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