A Sunni killed a Shiite

A Shiite killed a Sunni

The great prophet Mohammed

Looked down

And cried

He said

You have dishonored your family

You have disobeyed my Teachings

You have sealed the gates of Paradise

The Imams with tongues of hatred

Have smitten the name of Islam

Broken the laws of Allah


The Prophet has spoken.






The Gods always seem to be at war with each other.

I see it on TV.

A friend has it on their smart phone as an app.

People walk around or sit all day

staring at their mini-screens or big screens

watching the Gods at war.


Some of them just enjoy the Gods of war.

Others type as fast as their thumb and fingers can move

either helping the Gods at war to keep fighting

or they are busy typing away

thinking they can get the Gods of war to stop fighting.

Maybe they can.


But the real war, well the real war

is convincing

all of those people

with or without big screens  or mini-screens

that the Gods of war are not worth   watching.

And the Gods of war are not  worth  fighting for.


The Gods have fought before.

And only men suffered.

The Gods do not suffer.

They are Gods.

Only men suffer.

Women suffer even more than men.


Are the Gods   only at war  for us

like the Greeks  said they were?

Trying to save us

from themselves

or from other Gods  not quite so benevolent?

Only the Gods  would know the answer.

They are Gods.

We are only  men and   women.


Have we ever asked the Gods


they were at war?

Would they even want us  to know

how imperfect their world was.

After all,  a Universe  of Gods  where they  had to fight  each other?

You would think  as Gods

since they already know everything

they would be at peace.


We are the Gods  to ants  and roaches.

We watch them or

we kill them.

Do  we ever try to help them?

They just like to watch us fight.

It’s the only way they know  they are safe.


As long as we’re not fighting,  hungry over them.

Why are the Gods at war?







RIVETS AND BUNS (A War Story of Love)




Her soft hands
warmly knead my flour
a precious cargo
booming to land another flawless mission.

To Paris on her smell.

He doesn’t feel the final rivet snap
blooming foreskin
shielding the butt tip of his cockpit
as it rips apart
on his final approach
to her runway.

He smells the Paris of her hands baking.