Nice Shot, ha-ha. Nice shot, ha-ha. What was that? Attack? Duck? Hands over our mouths, terror bleeds into our eyes. Nice shots still? Time stands still. We stare; all is quiet. All is well somehow. Simple chitchat isn't listened to, we say nothing. *Strike #3; you-are-out! I'm going home.

The next step here is· The next step should be· Damn my human faculty fails me. I am not weak, damn it. I can do this; I can do it on my own. Breathe.Everything I remember or can fathom explodes. I am completely disoriented. I want my typical outlet-wait: there is nothing typical about this. NO! Not one thing here is typical. Cannot connect the dots. My dots are somewhere over there, over me, over you. I look at you, but it doesn't help. Who will make it home today? You're not my enemy? You're my boss-usually. I'm angry with you for being weaker than yesterday. You're crawling for shelter. We are so nearby, too nearby. You weak-ling, human! You were human too. Today you're a micromanager; I must survive alone.

"There are no fathers, no brothers, no friends" we're on our own.

Unto the streets I go, I'm leaving you behind. You don't really care about me; we just share a common horror of death. Otherwise, I you mother me,not. I would like to have been closer to my mother that day, to have familiarity around.

Ah, normally you don't care.
Splintered particles of silver-gray permeate the air today, in the sunshine. There is beauty to be found anywhere at any time. On hold-standstill hiding in my apartment on Avenue A.
I want my mommy. Nothing feels warm. My feet are numb and I am blinded by jubilant crowds on the TV! screen.

" Dancing in Palestine!?" No, think. Why would the news show this to us? Is it to distill primal thirsty revenge?I am going to hate. I hate too much already; my head is a clogged drain. God. Hi there, it's me Margaret·
"Where is god in all of this?"  Is this my fault? The almighty hand needs to change. I'll change. You see it's not knowing which fuels too many of my thoughts: Powerlessness in Remarque's soldiers on the front. I'm not dressed properly. Oh quit complaining; it's really not that bad, Kelly. I start to pack my bags and my roommate drills wooden holes; she's got ideas.

My mother calls again, everyone I remember calls even though we left each other behind awhile ago. There is nothing in the realm of my control; I lose my balance. I have no control, imagine that: I AM LOSING CONTROL.
I' ll close my eyes and think nothing more. Instead I see planes and flames crashing waves of fire on building, after building, after building.
I'm much better today. Secretly, it lingers. God, make the memory go away.


It's a slippery slide, falling in love with you.
Indelible devil masked, which name ought I give you?
Not my angel, not my god, a ghost with too much importance.
Met you when we fell in the sky together, by chance.

All the way down you are near in my sight,
This is the sublime, falling into flight.
We gather ourselves and find a concentric commonality
Shooting glitz meteorites
no one wake me please.

Movie star-messenger, Gibreel? Gabriel?
Angel explains miracles to Virgin Mary.
She shares her excite with the heavens.
She finds a corner, breathes.
A mother at last, she thinks

Now we're back here.

Two celestial birds without wings.
Reach for my hand and kiss my neck whispering:
' Things are not what they seem.'
We're almost there baby, hang on.
Then, suddenly, you've ceased to glow.


From the top of head: iridescent protruding horns.

Cannot be, I am gonna shut my eyes and remember my place.
I'm not yours to keep, fie!  I've made my last mistake.
Your mouth blossoms open wide -stale stained teeth.
Who you've become is sheer disgrace.
I want to go back home, call my friend
Mary Jo.

(8:14pm- I'm starting to drown now.)

I imagine what it's like for others to suffer to help me through this time. I am so scared and I crushed by the Senator's body weight. He is heavy on me. I imagine a place away from North America, somewhere in Northern Africa. A place called Oran. Why am I thinking about this town? Is someone controlling my thoughts? I'd rather play along since I do not know if I will be able to think of anything in an hour.

I visualize little girls screaming because their father is gone and relate to them. They want to be close to a man and be held tightly.

" Everything is going to be alright little girl," we hear them say. The Senator isn't speaking anymore. He's passed, out. Oh well, the I'll focus on the girl:

She takes my hand and we run through the town laughing and I buy her red candy. It brings me joy to see her hopeful eating her candy, now crunching it. She is so cute she reminds me of myself.
She persuades me to sit down on this bench next to a rat turned over on its side. Fresh blood trickles down the side of its mouth. I wonder if my leg is just cold from the water or is that my own blood. I cannot move my leg. Oh well. I like being with her-a fantasy world. We sit and she tells me her father died of the plague. " he got IN-FEC-TED," she says in a raspy voice. I ask her what is the matter, if she is sick-her voice sounds frail. She lets out a scream and kneels over, rests her head on my lap. I begin to cry and don't know why exactly. I pet her head. My hand runs down the bottom of her head onto her neck. There are two giant protruding lumps. It looks like she is giving birth to alien-like organisms, except they don't move: They are hard as rock.

I feel her pasty forehead stuck to my right thigh, my pants are torn there from the clutch-it ripped into my clothes. The little one breaks into a sweat. She is fainting. Her arm drops over the bench as if reaching for air. I try  to pick her up, but she is too heavy.

I think of Ted's weight on me.

The girl pushes off from my leg and gets a last look. Her eyes bloodshot. Her body-fatigued and dry. Her clamy hands reach for me, she wants to be held. I am scared that I will catch her disease. I stare at her and hope she is just a dream
I close my eyes and try to remember what it feels like when I haven't eaten for a few days.

I feel better now.


Dear god, am I dead yet? I see a pretty face he looks like a sad angel. He has a rope around his neck;tied. I remember playing games with Ted in bed; he tied me up. I couldn't see my face. Did it look like this little boy's? His face is golden. It fills my heart. There isn't much to fill because my heart is pretty small. I don't really have much room for compassion. I'm really busy.

Elizier says there is nothing to do to save the precious boy. His eyes glued to the vista. He isn't looking at anyone or anywhere,but through everyone and everywhere. Is he looking through me? Does he see my affair? Does he know my history with the Ted. If he could muster up the strength; he could save me.
I cannot be dead yet? Elizier says I am looking at the sacrifice of god. "God is dying here Kelleher." Elizier keeps calling me by my last name. "Please call me Kelly," I say and having a good look around. The others. Do they all know whom I've had as a lover? They all seemed to preoccupied, preoccupied with the death of this angel