Let's fight the fash.

In the silence after destruction,
death does not vanish,
just as the river of immortality
doesn't water anybody;
we remain between light and dark.

The waitress, a twice-stabbed lady beetle, brought a bottle of Brazilian Zinfandel, made from black-skinned grapes grown on the misty banks of Iguazu Falls and aged in anjica barrels. The assassin bug nodded after sniffing the cork.

and venture capitalism , a medulla oblongata rhyming 
each mouth and eye to the arrogant grasping of hands , is 
anything but natural . here , the crush of one thing 
onto the other . a totalitarian wind blowing from the east

Despite this midlife mustache,
and this momentary smirk,
and this signature laugh,
and these less-than-perfect teeth
which will never have the gleam of
Broadway or the shine of Hollywood