3 blocks away from the street isn't bronx i grew up on. just what are you getting out june abonus, that an alphabet, i would be visiting on a masterpiece and writing a bistro of poems. scones. 47 years later. she has long since ash, the world has become unmitigated cash. a woman gazing into the face of a cell phone. i gave me lover a cherry and lived on.

endure these bitter hips and hot heads and the empty collapse. night will still holdup after all these years. summer snap. >> virginia tech. the loner is here. the one who stopped listening. the one with the hidden fuse. with the fist. with the hole in his heart. with the cool guns, the one who blasts away. who kills just because. who kills as well because there's nothing left but the dead. kills himself.

suicide on top of all these kills and now you know, what a mar gin in old baghdad in the wrong place at the wrong time why you're mourning is going in one ear of the deaf tomorrow. and out the deafening utter. air cane. one, the sorrow these many months isn't because celebrities put eyes all over my body as i was in the u.s. again. not the other america.

it comes from the footprint of a kick stab in my back. got riding a bus to a reading with some really destitute brothers and sisters in a 16, 3 office space. i am sitting in the rear of the bus reading a translation of the book of the concealed mystery. my eyes are risen from a black woman standing and talking on her cell phone. i voice decibeled, latino black and white workers. when i arrive, i accidentally grace her sleeve with an excuse me. she pushed me.

shouts don't touch me with hate red and what the hell do you think you did to me. the eyes coiled and in denial or at once and set to spring. when my shoulders i bear a gentle but insistent arms and turning from a black man, you don't want to go here. here's your stop. he leads me to the stair well, but no sooner do i begin descending when i feel myself hurtled down my a kick to my

back falling and landing up a level on my feet as the door closes with a snicker and the bus pulls away. from my amazement what they do, the latina asks in startled urgency on the sidewalk. and home wards make me realize, i am 72. for the first time in my life. 2. one could i suppose chaplin it a way. how for no reason suddenly one is popped or clobbered with the cane. kicked in the ass for a slap stick for silence. but it just happens,

humiliation sounds very depth. just happens, a wound knows no depth of time and not so random is the karma of lungs breezing arkayicly. i didn't know the volatility of the hatred, i could only think dike. but if you prophecy be true that it will be reasoned. and reasoned must find it's violence in order to be for violence is the memory a horror

carried by the soul of the blood to sect. she, a violent of resistance is also a violence for, if she said or of me. why not take all of me and shove it up your ass because you can just about sit with your lips. because i am inside you now in violation of you and are american filthy crumb of a loaf of people. i am here and everywhere. no matter how hold you will always be the snot nosed with the shame spread over your

brains from a rumble doubt of gang bang wooden zips where the real thing went down on haight then ran in torn threads of a dead dawn to bring hot rolls and milk to 2 kids in a dump near palieu. 3, chalk it up like the gutters and walls of our breaths. between tilted ties singing the day is night and the night moves inside this long, lonesome bread of glues.

don't climb to the top. you can fall in and we'll never again find you. so many come at the midnight taint. paint the world where the sunshine aid ain't. go back to what beginning? a serial suck. a kick in the butt. oh, derelict devil in this hell's night. stay carton. be full of disstress. you can pull the race are card out of your hat. see the mother of memories.

the ors slide of the richness. know and your can't pull the race card out of the-bra neither. if she pushed you and kicked you, curse and spit you who touched her raped her mother and grandmother. you can't do this . we the thunder that never stopped shaking rooms. we are born to hate. hate. learn to hate. was wife and then that white didn't mean. or shinola. just meaningless.

feeding the rebirth where i be. i and you be. you and nothing will ever be between, but tragic race disgrace. cause you and i are on 2 to be slaves. black and white. that's why. the consumer trees grow long, long limbs. there's money in rape and murder. bloody blood talk. war though.

war duh. everyone riding hump back in their own dodgy. be and w. you noted stake of a putrid clan of worms insane and greatly dangerous. put your sincere hatreds and stupidity away. come together from under the skin with where soul is blood and beneath the sea and rise the wave and the furl class.

and money tyranny and be what revels that has to be. [applause]. >> i will read one more poem. and i will read it, it's a title poem. all that's left. all that's left in the world. whether in cuba venezuela, bolivia. as well as in china, japan, the united states europe. the middle east. africa. all of them cannot despise

their resistance. despite their refusal stop that march of death. despite their resistance. communists repressives. zionists and anarchists. none can evade the march. this one is not coming with hammer and sickles . all wars surrender to.

but when comes the cry? when will it really happen as death is peace? when can i truly die. you will never know yet you may have already and this life is your way of paying hommage to the power that loves and you left you with the taste of immortality on your lips. nothing mystical. no cries. power, your way. or buddha in the wings. even lying on your back, you are mocking. this is not a cynical, or

pessimist or neonnist poem. join deaths to your life and you will live as if there 1 drum to march to. there is no march at all. you are there. all will be well for all. [applause]. >> >> >> >>

>> the person i am excited to meet her. her book is called, my

miserable, lonely lesbian pregnancy. please, partake our free pens. andrea. >> thank you for wearing my buttons. it comforts me to see sad faces. my miserable, lonly lesbian pregnancy. tonight i am going to read, to snip or not to snip. >> conception. i drive to the california cryo

bank. there's no waiting room. just a glass window. a woman changes me $350. a vile half the size of my pinkie encased. this way up. i head to the clinic. i carry the sperm box inside. it's unwieldy. this is my second attempt. so i know the routine. the first time, i brought my

friend. even some crouch shots. most people don't get good shots of conception. i feel confident this time, like i'm doing my part in the world. the war in iraq started. may be this kid will be a piece maker, a modern day jesus christ as this jew understands jesus. i don't know what does. week 21, everyone thinks i'm having a boy. by everyone, i mean the waiter and my grandmother and neighbor across the street. i was getting out of my car and

she yelled "your having a boy". week 22, my family is involved in an all out campaign on the names i'm considering. she mocks the mothers calling after their sons, sebastion. i didn't realize lisa is racist. makes me like the name more. i say good, because i'm hoping for a fag. week 25, it's 4:00 a.m. and i'm give up for an hour.

who do i do for circumcision. it's a covenant with god. it seems like they feel plenty of pleasure. may be we should reduce a man's pleasure. may be this was god's way of reducing a man's libido. may be my son is not going to study the torah. we need to identify proudly. but then, am i imposing my will

on my child? i can't have a child. week 30, i have an appointment at the hollywood birth center where i will have natural childbirth, which i don't recommend. alex is my primary caretaker today. i read your medical records, do you want to know if it's a boy or girl? yeah, but don't tell me. i ask if she had children. not yet i said. i said it sucks. then i try to be funny. do you think epidurals have contributed. she opens my chart. is says you're having trouble

holding urine. i pee every time i sneeze. may be i should wear depends. are you doing your cagels? let me teach you a way that will be fun. i think she's about to make a joke. as you squeeze, save, i love my body. four counts hold. notice your vaginal area tightening. i love my body. squeeze a little harder. i love my body. good. that does make it fun, i say.

alex presses on my belly and says seven pounds. how am i going to get it out? i am hoping for a super wide vagina. i will have one after the birth. i know this is not sexualy, ideal. i think lesbians like a super wide vagina on their partner. the more she can shove in, the more

sexual. you shouldn't sircumicize. do you have any articles about the benefits of circumcision marks a jewish boy. i know she's not a lesbian. then you don't understand. week 31, i'm not going to sircumicize. i heard on the radio that thomas jefferson owned slaves. he bowed to cultural pressure.

some things are just wrong. week 32, i make the mistake of telling my mom i'm struggling with circumcision. i don't think so. i think of the stuff that can get caught in the vagina. that's not nice. andrea. if this child is jewish. he needs to be sircumicized. you don't want your boy to feel strange. that's true.

i think my anxiety is fear of having a boy. i am terrified of boys. they are wild and smelly. i said, there is no way to know that. well i know for a fact you don't need it. like i wanted to talk to my dad about his penis. week 34, i don't have the double wide vagina i was hoping for. with just six weeks to go. instructions for peroneal

massage. lock hands. apply lubricant. extra virgin olive oil. hold the thumb in place for two minutes or until it becomes numb. slowly massage over the vagina. it's best done with a partner. instead, i take a back door approach and use my finger. i have a lot of stretching to do.