My Family's Daily Struggle to Find Food in Gaza.
Into the Twisted Slippery Years we go
mildly surprised at the lack of flying cars.
So many friends have buried teenaged children,
parents who lost themselves before their footing.
Riveted to a screen--any screen--that shows
in oracular form how our despair unspools
& will it be the sky that then betrays us,
some rabid neighbor, pills, or the very air?
All we know is the frantic game & the voice
a robot has been given to tell us we can't.
A Thought is the Bride of What Thinking.
"wondering if a vinyl-like revival of print publications will be led by writers trying to make sure their work doesn't suddenly disappear into the ether (which is what happened to me and my fellow time out NY vets - one day, poof, years of work just vanished from the internet)" --@jemaswad
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