Mama’s in the kitchen counting while I’m sleeping on the floor because me and the daylight haven’t gotten along since 911.
She comes out of the fog of social media, a place I more often than not avoid like the plague because too many people are idiots.
There’s something about her that has awoken a part of my hibernating self that I swore I’d never bring to the surface again.
We must lower our guards if we ever dare to pass go and collect two hundred dollars
Problem is everyday there’s a million new reasons to get into our hazmat suits, board up the windows and never come out of our dens
Encased in a cozy blanket of “Being and Nothingness” the hurt you’re experiencing cuts through any nausea left dripping from the dagger plunged into your immortal sadness
I’ve always been a poet, a Jew and a Sicilian, even before my parents saw my cousin Lori and planned on having a baby
No one’s quite hearing the tolling bells of Covid-19 perhaps because staring into the abyss of our own mortality is too heavy a lift and threatens to break us into a million pieces
My essence spied your essence from across the internet and before I knew what was happening we were both enlightened by the swift action of God imploring us to never stop believing in miracles.
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