Friday, November 13, 2015


Today. Nov. 13, 2015, someone attacked Paris - a restaurant, a concert hall and two sites outside a soccer stadium, possibly more. There are over 120 dead. My birthday is tomorrow. They couldn't wait, I guess.

The Bomb

Walking down the street
and the shop windows blow out
just beyond my stride
knocking me down flat
and peppering my moon face
so I bleed, dozens
of cuts - tiny, but shit!
Not my idea of good times.
I get to my feet
coughing from the smoke
and dust and notice the blood
on me and the smell,
the angry damn smell,
all metallic and choking,
and the others too,
some still, some rising,
and there's others just moaning
like broken dolls do.

God damn you all to
a special black empty Hell!
you and all your kind.
Little terrorist
prick - this is not the terror
you wanted from me,

it's blind fucking rage!

‎November ‎13, ‎2015 6:32 PM


  1. Thanks for this, Christopher. We've been knocked by it, yet it seems to me, that unlike with the Charlie Hebdo attacks, the rest of the world is already taking less notice, 'oh yes, terrible, now moving on... ' Perhaps I'm being unfair.

    Happy birthday, really, for tomorrow. Take care.

    1. I did not think that way even once. I watched for much of the day and at least the news cycle had nothing else so consequential on CNN and MSNBC. The background on those stations was of course the body count. I am grateful the soccer crowd did not implode on itself. I am also grateful, my friend, that you are rarely in Paris, so I did not worry for you.

      And I tell the truth here. It is not fear but rage that fuels my heart in this matter. I know enough of my ways at seventy (just now that for about three hours) that I know my reactions to violence even when it is close by... I usually don't act it out but the rage overwhelms the rest of my feelings.


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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