The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive


from the front

difficult to write hanging specifically from several hairs of the bin
 Laden beard
  from this vantage point it is clear that whatever i write today will no
   longer be true tomorrow
    it is from here nonetheless that i can only ask, should we not, so
     specifically, drop parcels of food so as not to make a mockery of
     relief workers, and instead leave people in a worse situation, if
     that in fact is possible
      and from the other nostril i would like to ask if we should desist
       the air land and sea campaign and admit defeat in honor of our
       several thousand already dead, but excuse me while the bin Laden
       beard does its duty in the frequent sipping of coffee, it is
       difficult to stay awake in this place when there is so much noise
        and i can only ask, should we not, so specifically, keep up our
        blockade of Iraq, which hardly makes a piece of literature, but
        does a reasonable job of killing the innocent children, and
        should we not, so specifically, keep up our full support of Israel
        no matter what horrors are committed on both sides, instead of
        positioning ourselves equally towards both Arab and Jew
         i am getting sick swinging back and forth, there must be some
          praying going on, should we not recognize Cuba and drop our
          embargo, it is there just off the shore, waiting for trade and
          Bueno Vista audience
           this constant praying gets me sick, everyone throws Korans,
            Bibles, flags, and human beings into the mix, when i sleep by
            the left part or the right part, it never ever stops, surely
            whatever god there might be is sufficiently vicious to let us
            fight it out in its dubious honor
             i must be moving now, one can only hope this beard holds
              still once and for all, where have all the animals gone,
              where have all the plants
               he has named his beard The Furious Slayer
                there is anthrax hereabouts, i will be gone in the white
                 ghost of this death, let us leave life to another,
                  i'm getting dizzy, don't like hanging by a hair


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