How angry could a young man be, Asked Lydia of her son, who went out very early for a mountain trek, his last trip home.

Did you fly too close to the sun You bastard You couldn't be like your father could you old man  who invented a maze  he himself could not get out of on the island of Cnossus in the kingdom of Crete  I hate your misery i hate your scarves i hate your Koran and your illiterate prophets  I wish i could read your poems in my class  If only they dropped out like you Oh I can't adore my students anymore Not since I knew you From afar they all look like birds to me Black-feathered and grounded Sunk beneath their shyly folded wings  Too young and fallen angels already  Near they waddle like beached sharks  wearing their sex like cards face down pn the table Smelling of the hands of men frequenting the taverns  Flip them  Open their legs They will not know They will not scream  Yahya you could not really do more could you a heathen  with no friend  that's what you do best on your feet  You jerk  Kurdt shot himself too too soon  after his candle-lit funeral concert  in his last interview he was seething with love for frances  seattle will get her revenge yet said he couldn't take it that after what they did to her lawyers are still very much prospering and he at their mercy  the both of you too young too beautiful  too dead before success went to your head  In Northfolk my friend thinks herself  the seal climate change traumatized and furious at feminists such as I  who eschew allyship  with transwomen like her ignorant stupid is what you both are says she says of me and chimamanda a  communitarian who did not take well to winged plastic vaginas  Ships ought to find their own ropes  to hang from
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