Roger, Wilco

How is it that I can cry

Over a facebook profile.

A picture.

Words passed through wires

Ten times a day for a year.

Never heard her voice.

Never saw her eyes.

But she comforted me when I was sick.

Told horrible jokes just for fun.

Posted you tube blues when we were sad

Our only connections: blips, clicks, pulses.

Now silent. And silent.


How is it I can cry

Over a child I never met?

Whose face never filled my eyes.

Whose name I will never know.

But whose death represents

All that is reprehensible in humanity.


It is This One simple


of benevolence.

One we live for

Reach for.

Gossamer Intertwining


Passed through ages

In smoke signals,

Drawings on cave walls in ochre

Hieroglyphics. Murals.

Bibles. Frescos. Frieze.

Pacts. Treaties. Guns.

We speak to one another.

At all costs. Through time and fog.

Out of tempo. Out of sight.


Like a worn quill on heavy parchment

Our only connections

Hobnailed Electric Cobwebs.

Quaver, trill, warble, shiver, vibrate.


Communication over rickety terrain these days.


So it seems.

So today I say

‘I read you loud and clear.

Over and Over and out.’


Just smoke and ash.

Just ink.

Just words.

Just paint.

Just filaments.

Just human.



I cried today, yesterday, and tomorrow.

For a child whose face I never saw.

Whose name I never knew.

Whose fate was in my hands.



  1. and yes loops of energy, physical, mental, emotional, spiritual… humanity is thusly… to do and be a better human everyday.

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