New Poetry Collection

Download the free PDF

My second poetry collection, The Virus is My God and Other Poems, is now available for free download here: https://www.dropbox.com/scl/fi/n61brdd9606dmypgkz0ul/The-Virus-is-my-God-and-other-Poems.pdf?rlkey=y5kac5px4fur83civyhziuhbl&st=2eqx2dz1&dl=0

This collection features eight deeply personal and reflective poems, each drawing from pivotal moments and memories in my life:

• 9/11: A stark recollection of a day when normalcy vanished, replaced by smoke, fear, and uncertainty.

• Diabetes: A meditation on receiving a life-altering diagnosis and the rituals of adapting to a body in revolt.

• My Father’s Death: The quiet weight of grief and the rituals that help us say goodbye.

• Charles & Diana: The Musical: The pride and excitement of bringing a creative vision to life on stage.

• The Virus is My God: A bold, unflinching critique of fear and conformity during the plandemic.

• The Dating Profile: A whimsical, reflective piece inspired by the yearning for connection in an ever-changing world.

• Brush with Death: A chilling, vivid memory of a near-fatal moment that redefined my relationship with the city’s streets.

• Save Your Seat: A tender tribute to my late cousin, preserving her presence in the eternal spaces of memory and love.

Special thanks to ChatGPT, who helped shape some of these moments into verse that surprised even me.

Here is one of the poems from the collection. Remember to download the entire collection by pasting the above link into your browser.

The Virus is My God

I never imagined this.
A world turned inside out,
its pulse muted by fear,
its streets silenced by a whispered name.
The virus came, they said,
with rules like scripture,
spoken by the new high priests.
Doctors, scientists, officials,
robes of authority cloaking their words.
Stay inside. Obey. Believe.

Familiar places vanished—
Forlini’s, its doors closed forever.
The waiters, their futures hazy,
fading like a forgotten meal.
Every face hidden,
every voice muffled
beneath the fabric of submission.

The streets pulse with echoes of fear,
not contagion.
Masks divide us—
a wall between neighbors,
a silent judgment
on those who resist.
Common sense suffocated
by the weight of unchallenged doctrine.

Friendships fractured,
their bonds severed by the rhetoric of safety.
Crazy, they call me,
for daring to question
the unseen chains tightening around us.
Words like arrows,
they pierce, but they do not kill.
I endure, unbowed.

Routine becomes rebellion:
a grocery run,
a walk to nowhere,
a meal shared with no one.
Even the wine tastes like defiance.
But the world outside shrinks—
offices abandoned,
businesses shuttered,
the hum of life dulled to a monotone.

They tell us this is safety.
But I see a gilded cage,
a doctrine of fear,
and a god forged from invisible particles.
I do not kneel.
I do not pray to their golden calf.
The virus is not my god,
and fear will not be my master.