Dear Mr. Trump

The Presidency was never what you really wanted. You must know that by now. And you’ll never know what you really want until you sit somewhere quiet, somewhere safe, and listen.

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White Moon

If I could wipe away your fears • Touch the way that tears do • Sing my love until white moon hears • See yourself the way I see you

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The End

This is the song that’s going to free me • Because this morning it’s not just you • It’s anyone • It’s all men • I’m sliding over again to the end

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Always With The Punching

Imagine instead that the thugs suddenly drop their guns, their faces quizzical, their blinding rage wiped away by a wave of tranquility. They are not sedated into unconsciousness to arise later still bitter, but rather awakened entirely from their cold trance of hatred. They can feel again.

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More Gratitude

Over glasses of wine or plates of cookies, crowded into the kitchen or outside watching our breath in the cold, in groups or pairs, old and young, we drift together bound by the strange gravity of family love. I am safe and warm and strong, orbiting that star.

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