passingavery

April 17, 2015 To the Department of Human Resources, I am writing this letter to make an official complaint about an unfortunate incident that recently happened to me at the office. I believe that I have been sexually harassed by an employee in upper management. His name is Jonathan Herz and he serves as the company’s Chief Operations Officer. On Monday, April 13, I was asked by my immediate supervisor, Herz, to remain in the office past 9pm to go over some sales and marketing figures for a report that he was compiling for the CEO. It was the first time he made such a request of me and everyone else who was working on the 59th floor

We waited amongst strangers, cheap paper banners, and protests in the scorching heat as the clock struck a minute closer to noon. The news channels had set up their cameramen before the crowd, accompanied by news anchors with their microphones on the ready, set for live news coverage to be aired precisely at midday. Between the chattering crowd and the highlight of the day stood a steel gate more than ten feet tall, armed with barbed wire at its ridges. Behind the gate stood uniformed guards – some armed with rifles, all armed with handguns. They paced back and forth alongside the metal fencing, expressions stoic and movements well-rehea

Spare the spider, you said, for it's more afraid of you, but I turned on the offensive anyway, the newspaper curled into my hand like claws clenched for the crushing, and you stared at me as though you couldn't believe that fear was this contagious. I remember seeing its body brushed against brick the way a bruise molds its way across the skin, surprise paved like pigments in the scattering of its legs, cupped at angles that looked like palms pursed for prayer, stretching across the air as though to say – I wouldn't have hurt you like this. And I raised the folded paper one last time, my eyes seeing only the twit

Plump blue bottle entity, it Hovers, lightweight, carelessly Yachting through waves, its wobbly legs outstretched like twirling arms, Spreading over the glistening water like a raft, a lifeboat, Answering the push-pull of the tides, whether Left or right, east or west, enigmatic buoyancies Its only call for duty, As the ocean guides it, for the ocean always protects its own. Pluck the creature off, should it come in contact with your skin. Have salt water on the ready; make sure You apply it to the affected area; don't worry if it Stings. The pain is only temporary. Avoid dousing the wound with vinegar. To Let the toxins denat

Lindbergh dwells, voyeur of myths that climb like eagles in dreams of young minds.

Your allegiance to the heartland waxes and wanes to the colours of your suit. Pinstripes mean salute; god forbid they put two and two to find the heart sewn between your sleeves is not your own.   Back up the generators; keep the beating alive. What's freedom, should you fail to walk another night? The teeth are seething. The chagrin is to be consumed. Do you know how far deep a man can swallow his pain? If someone shifted blame to a finger on the trigger and the barrel to your head, would the cynics   put circumstance to coincidence? Roll the dice, count your ratios; declare your lucky dollar furthest from the num

"Google it." "Do I want to?" "What do you mean? It's just Google." "You say Google like it's a good thing. Like it's an entity that bears some sort of universal answer." "It's a search engine. Nothing more, nothing less. Unless we go into Google Maps, but it's all the same difference, on some satellite-dish stalking level. You search for a place, it finds it for you. Especially in America. Yeah, they have the streets labeled in America." "That's creepy. The zoom-in function too. Like, you can zoom down to street level and stare face to face with someone's house. Sometimes you can see their cars too. But never people. That's the part

Cancellation is in effect.The cooks are not spoiling their broths just as the pots are discovering that they will never be the new black. The kettle is at a loss for words; black isn't its colour either. The proverbs are absolving.The modern are transcending – riding tempests, running deep.

I. I move to be unbound, opening to nothing; but absence leaves longing in its stead. I shuffle to linger;you distort to fabricate.Words are will and will is where you advocate your claim: everything to anticipate, nothing to decompensate. Your legislature,my misadventure.II. Imagine losing your voice; we'll find equal ground where your throat runs dry. There is so much to say where nothing finds its place. I say everything with silence; protesting not where your hands last struck, defending not where your arms last put me into place. There is a light where I do not open my eyes; a sanctum you cannot dislocate whe

i. You are no Goliath, strong as you may be – Your footsteps are not pathways for those who obscure the frontal lines with courageous words obeyed by sons who are not their sons. You do not measure victory by the distance you throw your stones, for it is never about the body count. It is only about the stones, and the stories they leave untold. You are no wager of war, ordained only by the highest bidder; your words are more than the ground that moves beneath stomping feet – ii. Perhaps you share likeness to David; greeter of the open challenge, writer of hymns, a humble warrior, steadfast where your feet last