by Gene Novogrodsky
He’s captured,
He the Korean-Arabic translator,
And his head is cut off, falls to a carpet,
And rolls into sand,
Blood trailing …
Where is the Korean?
Where is the Arabic?
He, the translator,
Dramatic, and the
Regular, mono-lingual,
Upon death, no blood,
Just death.
Where is that one language?
“What is so special about
Being killed or simply dying
And having languages or one
Language vanish, like a [...]

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by Gene Novogrodsky
My pedals and walks,
Overnight buses,
Overnight trains,
Thumb out,
Sign in hand.
And no one asks.
Why should they?
They are me, mine.
Purity dictates they
Are not for retelling,
With hopes for intent faces,
Smiles, shock, seduction,
Appreciation ….
Bothered until travelers
Back reported the same,
No one asking, many bored ….
And then I easily walked away,
No more efforts at telling.
But once, she asked,
“What do you [...]

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