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After your murder, the week before Lady Diana’s crash, I called you. It didn’t dawn on me, in a 24 hour news cycle, that being dead meant you wouldn’t pick up. For a long time afterwards I’d lie awake at night, a record million shares trading hands on the NYSE, and staring at the ceiling, think the Republicans have gained control of the House. I was afraid to sleep alone. The gourmet ghetto’s taken over Berkeley and when I do fall asleep, Steve Jobs came back to Apple. I leave all the lights on and Clinton’s been re-elected, despite what the meaning of the word ‘is’, is. One night, listening to Laura Nyro, dead too, I find one of your blond hairs on my pillowcase. Jimmy Carter’s won the Nobel Peace Prize. I imagine you’re here. Bush vs. Gore. Only you’re not. Enron and global warming. You’ve grown much bigger than this room. 9/11 and anthrax. I wear your navy blue hooded sweatshirt, OMG and WTF, that smells like you, Amazon and Columbine, to bed every night. The polar ice caps are melting and your family doesn’t invite me to the funeral. I go anyway, the Red Sox won the series, anything is possible. When they’re not looking, Dick Cheney’s running the White House, I stuff a fist full of your ashes, Nina Simone, Allen Ginsberg, William Burroughs, in my pocket⎯all gone. Later I spread them off the Cape while the US invades Iraq and a gust of wind, the Great Pacific Ocean Garbage Patch, blows them back to my face.

I turn the lights out eventually and start having sex, Netflix and Facebook, with men that mean nothing; Pope John Paul II apologizes in my one room apartment and Saddam Hussein’s found in a hole overlooking the Brooklyn Queens Expressway. “Mission Accomplished.” You’d be happy to know Rachel Maddow hearts Gay marriage and I started therapy. Shock and awe, yes, it’s been a long time coming. While Wall Street brought on a housing crisis we lost Paul Newman and Michael Jackson. I’m still pretty good at making brilliant mistakes, Titanic like, think the ship, not the movie and a bit of a flight risk, shoe bombs and airport x-rays. If a new circus came to town, WikiLeaks, the Haitian earthquake, there’s no guarantee that I wouldn’t run away with it. We’ve got a Black guy as president now and we’re all using gadgets. Yet despite all this, Deepwater Horizon and Osama bin Laden, I’m finally getting around to seeing, Sarah Palin and Tina Fey, the beauty in everything. The Egyptian people have just toppled a dictator and wouldn’t you know, the last natural born ibex, yes, a female named Celia, oh, girl, was found dead, girl, girl, girl, apparently killed by a falling tree.