A Tribute to a Monster


If you know me, then you know how much I appreciate understanding why people do the things they do. When I get to know someone’s psychology, I feel closer to the person (for better or for worse). So, here is a tribute to– Actually, I’ll let you figure it out.


“Mr. Khrushchev, sir.

Do you have what it takes

to bleed but not scream

when I rip off the Band-Aid?


“How will you respond

to Kennedy’s ‘quarantine’

around mi isla bonita, Cuba

a naval blockade?


“I know of your treasonous letter—

‘blind moles’ and ‘goats on a bridge’—

to the Irish Catholic

who bribed his way to fight

in the South Pacific.


“Mr. Khrushchev, sir.

I have a game we can play.

It’s a game of will—

‘will to power.’


“Unlike your precious pastime (chess),

a game of strategy and intellect

that sours the beast within

to live unscathed within

the walls of your precious Kremlin.


“No need to bring a change of clothes.

You won’t stay long

if you come at all.

I’ll provide the suicide bicycle

if you provide the fight song.


“Mr. Khrushchev, sir.

Can I count on you to come?

We’ll ride shirtless

with the perfume

of cigar smoke and guava

on our breasts

like illegitimate children,

owning everything

and bound by nothing

(or is it–owning nothing

and bound by everything?

I forget. No matter.).


“Here is my mantra.

Here are my rules.


“Blood is our ally.

Pain our final prize.


“The loser:

The first who hits the brakes.

The first one who cries.


“Mr. Khrushchev, sir.

We light ourselves on fire.

We as lief pedal to the church.

Speed chokes the life

from the flames.

So it pays to be first.


“We ride,

foaming at the mouth,

headlong into St. Peter’s outer wall.


“Do you suppose, sir, the winner

of a nuclear holocaust—

the one whose flight careens into a crawl?


“No. Mr. Khrushchev.

It’s the prefect of power:

A cracked skull.

A monster.

A bloody mess.


“It’s the first one over the handlebars:

The one the priest will bless.”


If you’re still having a hard time guessing, watch this short film that inspired the poem. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NHVpuhApSC0&t=8s


It is well known that the Sandinistas were funded and trained in Cuba under Che Guevara and Fidel Castro’s Cuban Revolution as well as being indirectly funded by the Soviet Union under Mikhail Gorbachev. This training commenced in the ’60s and the war officially ended on July 19, 1979, when Somoza’s army surrendered. The Sandinistas—led…

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Category: Art, Beauty, Nature, Poetry, Suffering

This poem was inspired by a poem written by my dear friend, Jerome Gastaldi, whom you may know as Bob Abbott. The last stanza starts . . . Some do not want to know. For the pain of knowing  Is the death Of their illusion. —Jerome Gastaldi Riding the train. A pane of glass is…

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The first masked man provokes the captive: “Any last words before I separate your skull from your body?”

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