back then,

i fantasized about

taking sandpaper

to the tips of my

fingers

so that there would be

no trace

of my fingerprints

for you

to follow.

what i was willing to do

back then,

is not

what i am willing to do

now.

never again,

will i sacrifice

my identity

for another.

(leave your mark)

my muse is one who tore me

ripped out my counterfeit years

upon a bed of razor blades

pulled starlight from my tears

my spirit was flayed, bleeding

he worried none and smiled

stitched me up with moonbeam thread

pulled through a million miles

when I healed, my psyche woke

a sun inside me shone

dear muse had sewn inside

my truest self I’d failed to own

freedom is a soul unchained

a mind on astral flight

awareness earthly life shall not

suppress creative might

God, he was so tired.

No matter how hard he worked,

How hard he played,

Sleep eluded him.

Insomnia

The doctor nods sagely,

Jotting illegible scribbles

On his clipboard.

This is the sixth prescription;

Yet another bottle of sleeping pills

With a name he didn't even try to pronounce.

What else was new?

However, he popped them anyway,

Chasing them with a swig of coppery water,

Cut the lights,

And settled to sleep.

Refreshed.

The next morning,

He woke.

He couldn't believe how awake,

How absolutely rejuvinated he felt!

A deep, dreamless sleep

Announcing itself as absolute bliss.

He phoned the doctor;

They'd found the right type and dose.

Both of them were happy.

Coworkers marveled at productivity,

Even his boss patted him on the back.

His friends were overjoyed

At his activity at the gym,

How energized and animated he was.

They played a game of baseball;

He struck five home runs,

Running and making them all.

It was a good day.

And another good night

As dreamless sleep took him once more.

Another refreshing morning.

Over time though,

The pills weakened.

His doctor upped the doses.

They both hoped

It'd be enough.

He took four.

Six.

Eight.

Ten.

But the effects

Only continued to wane.

Desperation struck one night.

He downed the whole bottle;

All he wanted was the sleep,

The energy,

The way his life had changed

For the better in the beginning!

The officers collected the body

That had been missing

For two weeks.

They informed his parents

That their child would not be visiting

For Christmas that year,

Or for any other.

The doctor was investigated

For malpractice.

After all, the only difference between poison and medicine...

Is the dosage.

he said

"look at me, bitch"

but I knew

I was worth more

than anything he wanted

to put in my mouth

all he would give me

was flesh

and I deserved the stars

The Nora home is a tiny one bedroom apartment in a predominantly white and conservative neighborhood in New York City. The kitchen and living room are small in comparison to other homes and are conjoined by a small dining area – no space in the apartment confines or isolates these two areas. Cooking appliances (e.g. toaster, oven, refrigerator, microwave) comprise the makeup of the kitchen. The living room is home to a small black futon sofa and a small television resting on a beige night stand.

The characters, Mom and Herb, are seen in the kitchen and living room. Mom briefly exits for the bathroom on a few occasions. Mom struggles to express herself in English because of her heavy Spanish accent. Mom’s personality is warm, affectionate, and in a sense, innocent. Herb is a cold motherfucker, his millennial mentality and disposition is clearly different from Mom’s. Herb is ashamed of his mother’s accent and demeanor – he almost loathes her.

Mom [entering the kitchen area]: Herb, we having pork chops and rice and beans tonight.

Herb [sitting on the futon]: Cool. Dan texted me earlier and asked me if I voted today.

Mom [preparing to cook]: Oh, really? Who he vote for?

Herb: I told him that I voted for Johnson but he didn’t tell me who he voted for. He started asking me about Sandy. I guess he’s remorseful about not calling to find out how we were doing during the storm.

Mom: Hmm, finally.

Herb: He’s not a bad son. You know he’s got a lot on his mind. They just let him go and he’s always in his own world because of the weed.

Mom: I hope Johnson wins.

Herb: Me too.

[Mom continues cooking.]

Mom: Maybe Hamilton should win.

Herb: What?! Are you serious?

Mom: I only want him to win so that the people can see that he can’t really fix the economy.

Herb [condescendingly]: Yeah, but if he wins he can do a lot of shit to move us backward instead of forward.

Mom: [stirring rice]: Hmm, yeah…

Herb: Oh God, I hope Johnson wins Ohio.

Mom: Why? Do they have a lot of people there?

Herb: I don’t know, but we need their Electoral College votes.

Mom: Oh. I think Dan voted for Hamilton.

Herb: Yeah, Ada’s been pushing him to vote for that asshole.

Mom: She don’t care about nothing. She didn’t even call me to find out how we were doing during Sandy.

Herb: She seemed very cold the last time we were over there.

Mom: She don’t care about nothing…

[Election results are announced on the television. Mom sits down next to Herb.]

Mom: Wow, Bito! Hamilton’s winning a lot of states.

Herb [annoyed]: Everyone knows he was going to win those states.

Mom: Not me.

[Herb ignores mom.]

Herb: I’m starving Ma. Are those pork chops ready yet?

[Mom jumps up and swiftly walks to the kitchen. She begins making a plate for him.]

Mom: I don’t know why Dan’s always mad.

Herb: You know he’s had a rough life.

[Mom hands Herb his dinner plate.]

Mom: Enjoy Bito!

Herb [unenthusiastically]: Thanks.

[Mom sits down next to Herb]

Mom: Is it good?

Herb: Yeah.

[The television announces more Johnson and Hamilton wins.]

Mom: Wow Bito! Hamilton’s getting more votes, he’s gonna win!

Herb [annoyed]: Ma, it’s not about the amount of popular votes a candidate wins, it’s

about the amount of electoral votes a candidate wins.

Mom: Oh. That’s not right Bito.

Herb: Well that’s the way it works.

Mom: Did Dan tell you how the kids are doing?

Herb: No.

Mom [sighs]: I miss them. I wish I could be closer to them.

Herb: They didn’t even call.

Mom [sadly]: I know.

Herb [forcefully]: Stop bending over backwards for people. Look at how they fucking treat you.

Mom: I know Bito.

Herb [sheepishly]: Ma, can you get me some milk?

Mom: Of course Bito!

[Mom jumps up to retrieve a glass of milk.]

Herb: Thanks.

Mom: Who’s winning?

Herb: Hamilton.

Mom: See, I told you.

[Mom exits for the bathroom.]

Herb [whispering]: Fucking stupid.

[Herb finishes eating while more results are announced on television.]

Herb [ecstatic]: There ya go! Fuck Hamilton!

[Mom walks back into the living room and sits next to Herb.]

Mom: Why you yelling?

Herb: Because we’re winning!

Mom: I wish I could vote.

Herb: When do you get to apply for citizenship?

Mom: Next year. Maybe I’ll vote like Dan.

Herb: Jesus Christ. Yeah, go ahead and vote with the guy who doesn’t care about you.

Mom: Bito you know he had a rough life. I never wanted to leave him behind…

[More election results are announced.]

Herb [pointing to the television]: See Ma! That’s what counts!

Mom [sadly]: Oh…

Herb: See? We won Michigan, Wisconsin, and Colorado!

Mom: Bito, I love you.

Herb [quickly]: Love you too.

Mom: What if Dan voted for Hamilton?

Herb: Then he’s out of fucking luck.

Mom: Ay Bito, poor Dan.

Herb: We’ve almost got this in the bag Ma!

[Mom exits the living room as more election results are announced.]

Herb: Yes! Yes! We’re almost there Ma!

[Mom re-enters the room. Tears are visible on her face.]

Mom [choked up]: I don’t want Dan to hate me Bito.

Herb [absorbed by the television]: JOHNSON!! WE DID IT!!!

Mom [crying]: Ay, my poor Dan.

Herb [absorbed]: YES!!

Mom [loudly]: Bito.

Herb: Thank you Ohio!!

Mom [louder]: Bito!

Herb [yells]: What?!

[Herb realizes that Mom is crying.]

Herb [softly]: What?

[Mom runs to embrace Herb.]

Mom: I didn’t want to leave my Dan behind! I didn’t want to…

[Herb embraces Mom.]

Mom: I didn’t want to leave my boy behind! I didn’t want to leave my baby behind!

[The room goes dark but the unseen television monitor’s light continues to shine.]

Herb: I know. I know.

[The television speaks.]

Television: Well that does it ladies and gentlemen. Johnson wins by twenty two votes and

secures his second term!

[The television light flickers off.]

I

“Stand clear of the closing doors please.” The ominous train messaging system warned

riders of the closing doors as Aidan squeezed onto the crowded subway car. “Damn it” thought Aidan as he saw the amount of people packed into the car. Everyone wore heavy winter jackets and hats and gloves to protect their extremities from January’s cold bite. Aidan gripped a metal pole at the end of the car and found himself standing unusually close to a cute black woman. By Ottawa standards this was much too close, they were invading each other’s personal space. But New York City’s standards are completely different from Ottawa’s. The city still felt exotic to him and so did this young black woman and her facial features and skin tone. As the train came to a sudden stop Aidan bumped into a stocky Puerto Rican man and quickly apologized.

II

“He hated crowds” said Diana as she sipped on a glass of red wine. “I don’t know why he

took the train. He always took the express bus.” She set down her glass of wine and began to sob as Officer Hemmings scribbled in his notepad. He noticed a pile of wine bottles near her sink in the kitchen. He had been talking to her for half an hour and hadn’t written down a single substantial note. After all, there were no survivors, the assailant had been killed in the blast, and the case was basically closed. Captain Riley had sent a few first responders to visit the families of the lost ones to offer some form of consolation. Louie Hemmings was one of those responders, but Louie wasn’t ready for this. He faced the crying wife of a victim of a terrorist attack. He wanted to hug her and tell her “Don’t worry, everything is going to be okay.” He wanted to hold her and tell her “Don’t worry, he’s in a better place now.” He did neither.

He still had nightmares and often thought about the bloody scene. At first the radio reported an explosion on the six train attributed to a faulty conduit. But when Louie reached the scene he knew that it wasn’t a faulty conduit, the smell alone reminded him of his Army days. Louie decided to maintain his professionalism. He patted Diana on her left shoulder and said “If you need anything, and I mean anything at all, you call me.” When Louie exited the apartment he turned off the hallway light and closed the door as Diana had instructed. After descending the staircase he reached the building’s mailboxes and saw a lone envelope taped to one of the boxes. Louie fought the urge to look at the envelope in case it was for Diana. He thought “Don’t look. It doesn’t concern you and it’s none of your business.” He looked. The envelope was addressed to: Diana Rosenthal

Apartment 4G. One word marked the return address: MANAGEMENT.

Louie exited the building and walked down 125th Street as he lit his cigarette. All the while thinking about Diana sobbing, the piled bottles of red wine, her dead husband, and that damn letter taped to her mailbox. He inhaled more of the tobacco and thought about the large capitalized letters spelling out MANAGEMENT. He inhaled once again and thought “fuck it.” He walked back to Diana’s building, grabbed the letter and opened it. Diana had one month to vacate her apartment.

III

“Marcos, Marcos” called a strong voice in the dark. “Levantate, vamos para el mercado.”

Marcos knew his father’s voice well, even at 4am in the pitch black. He also knew that it was time to accompany his father to the marketplace in Managua. There he would assist his father in setting up their family’s stall and preparing the chickens they sold. First, he would grab a chicken by its legs and swiftly hit it across the head with a rubber mallet. Once the chicken stopped flailing Marcos would pluck every single feather off the bird and wash it. Next, he would skin the chicken, rinse it once again and cut it up into small pieces. His father taught him how to do this. “Asi es como se hace hijo, dale en la cabeza como si fuera un gringo haha!” his father gleefully explained as he clubbed a chicken. Marcos never knew why his father resented Americans so much and he often wondered if his father had ever even met an American. Nonetheless, he learned how to kill chickens the way you’d kill “gringos”, the way his father taught him.

A month later the Contra “Freedom Fighters” received the backing of President Reagan and the United States to fight the Sandinista government. Two months later Marcos’ small town was pillaged by Contra forces, his mother and sister were raped, and his father’s refusal to denounce the Sandinistas led to the removal of his fingers and eventual execution. Marcos was severely beat and left to take care of his family at the age of fifteen. Months later, while recovering in the Maria Auxiliadora Catholic Hospital, he often read and talked with the other young boys in the intensive care wing. When the nuns rolled in a new television set donated by the Sandinistas the boys celebrated and “oohed” and “ahhed”. But when they turned on the television set he learned about something he’d never forget. He learned about Reagan and Oliver North and Iran-Contra. And he saw the rebels on the TV screen and he thought about his family. And through a bandage covering most of his face he strained himself to see an American family boarding a train heading towards Rockefeller Center. The evening news’ final story. Months later he’d club the chickens with intense tenacity and recall the images on the TV screen.

IV

Aidan’s claustrophobia kicked in as he tried to compose himself. “Just watch it bro.” said

the Puerto Rican. “Sorry, sorry man” replied Aidan as he glanced back at the black woman. He noticed she was smiling at him. He smiled back. “It’s innocent” he thought “I’m not cheating on Diana.” He met Diana in college in Ottawa and they married after dating for two years. After graduation Diana received a position with SafeBank and they relocated to Manhattan. She worked and paid the bills while he worked on his writing. She enabled him “keep writing baby, I know you’re going to get published.” He took advantage of her “babe I need this computer for my work, make it my Christmas gift.” After the recession hit she lost her job and they both found themselves sitting at his computer looking for work. Aidan looked away from the black woman and stared at a Knicks advertisement that read “BOOM! Here come the Knicks!” A player was dunking the ball.

Aidan couldn’t wait to tell Diana about the good news. After a two month job search he had finally landed a position teaching English at a high school in the Bronx. He decided to use the rest of his savings to pay the rent he owed. They were two months behind on payments so he decided to visit the building’s management office and pay in person. The six train was the quickest way for him to reach the office and then hop back on and head home. Under his arm he held a bottle of merlot, Diana’s favorite. As the train approached Whitlock Avenue, Aidan saw a dishevelled looking man stand up from his seat and curiously dig into his inner coat pocket. Aidan and the man made eye contact and stared at each other for a split second. Suddenly the man yelled out “Al diablo con los gringos!” The man pulled a grenade out of his pocket, pulled the pin, and hurled it towards Aidan’s direction. Aidan saw the Puerto Rican man open his mouth, he saw the black woman’s wide-eyed terror, and he saw the weapon ricochet off the car ceiling towards him. Before everything went black the train spoke, “Stand clear of the closing doors please.” The grenade exploded and the shrapnel lodged into the stocky Puerto Rican man, the cute black woman and Aidan.

V

“Why the fuck does Riley want me to do this?” thought Louie. He was on his way to

“console” the wife of a dead man. He wondered about the turn of events as he drove down 125th Street. It was an ordinary day, just like today, when the radio relayed the news of the explosion. “All available units to Whitlock Avenue train station. Reports of an explosion and shots possibly fired.” He recalled the eerie train car on the platform and the dead bodies on the car floor. Those who were seated were slumping over each other. Louie glanced at his copy of the Post lying on the passenger seat. The paper identified the killer as “Marcos Cordero of Nicaragua, an illegal alien who bore anti-American sentiments and hailed from a communist country.” “Bastard” thought Louie. He parked the cruiser outside a small apartment building and looked at his cell phone “Alright, Diana Rosenthal, 4G.”

Alive

And I

Surprise

With ease

Arise

I lie

Her eyes

Deceived

Stop

It’s me

A mask

Is free

Yes

Stop and see

And possibly

A masterpiece

Will pass for he

Disaster!

Please

You’re at your knees

I’m on my feet

You’re atrophy

I’m beyond discreet

It’s disgraceful!

Who me?

You’re hateful!

I see

Playful

Is that what you mean?

Not in the least

Well take it from me

The hate that you see

Is yourself

Be selfless

You’re selfish

You’re helpless

You’re hapless

For once

Let me have this

You panic

I prosper

I can’t stand it!

I conquer

I’m on her

You monster!

I’m not

You pondered

You thought

You squandered

I sought

I’m sickened

The plot

Thickens

Perturbed

You say?

Disturbed.

No way

I wonder why

An interplay

Is intertwined

So much dismay

Is undermined

Benign

Believe me

You’re fine

She needs me

Unwind

And heed me

You’re mine

Now leave me

#poetry #alterego

The wind is wailing

The streets are wet

Looking down from the window

There’s a girl conflicted

Two days ago this girl almost took her own life

Two days ago her life was nothing but broken pieces scattered across the floor

Two days ago she lost everything

But now she sits

She listens

She waits

Waiting for signs of the new day approaching

Today is different

She knows something she didn’t two days ago

She knows what she must do

God couldn’t put her here for no purpose

Now she’s determined to find it

So what if she needs some extra help for a while

Who cares if she needs to check into detox and then treatment

She decided to go

On that new day she made that decision

On that day she knew it would be the right one

This is the day she finally took charge of her life

This is the first day of a bran new life

On this new day, for the first time in her life, she believed it was possible.

New day finding a better way

yes, i am afraid

of letting in

the light

it reveals

every fracture i’ve

taped together and

filled with

temporary colors

no one can see

my scars

in the dark, but

in the light,

i am vulnerable

and terrified

of finding

a permanent fix

for the cracks

that define me,

map my history

as a survivor, broken

but still standing

like ancient ruins

kissed

by the moon,

the light

burns away

the shadows of me,

the sun

fades my scars

and that

is why

i am afraid,

because without

these maps

how will i navigate

the fractures

of a new mask?

So I asked my heavenly father how will I continue with no Currency?

He said to me:

“You only need my word

and those who are looking for me will find me through my word.”

“Your brothers and sisters will join you like before and you will be together and you will be familiar.”

“They will know you through your touch and sound.

They will hear my voice through yours and they will remember.”

“They will offer you their Radiance.

There is no Currency greater than this, for your voice is as a result of my breath and my breath is the creator

of all things.”

“Help to unify the lives of your brothers and sisters.

Improve.”

“Bring no other name

before or after my own.

Bring no symbol in my name that would create division from my word.”

“Tell them that we started this race together and that I am waiting

to finish it with them.

It is not about how well you end the race but about how you conducted yourself during the race.

This whole day at the park was to spend time with me.”

“Don't forget your purpose.

Don't forget your way back home.

I am waiting here for you

with open arms.”

A true and detailed account of a message that was given to me after a dream where I was taken to other worlds sitting on the big toe of our creator. A seemingly telepathic non-religious force that had an access pass to all places and an answer to all things. I saw myself asleep as we traveled to an apocalyptic world where people made of stone and lava roamed the land with hate. We also travelled to a utopia where people traveled by holding hands while yawning with a golden glow.

Finally, I was shown triangle where other worlds and experiments before us had been set and categorized. He explained that as we became more pure in each rendition and yet as a result we had less ability to see him. As the others who had moth-like wings and thin bodies could zip through fabrics of time and see him clearly, but they were not what he was looking for. Thus faith became an unplanned necessity. Awaken but asleep, I had an opportunity to take a stroll through the universe (with some help from above).