Here is a poem from the published poetry collection “Psychoanalytic Celebrity Poems”
I imagine us smoking weed,
you with your Afro and me with my Jew-fro.
Brothers from a different mother,
we talk about our parents:
my father was not a goat hoarder,
my mother won’t eat goat cheese.
I light up another bowl,
the smoke curling around our fro-y hair.
You ask me,
what do you think about Benghazi?
I take a hit from the bong,
Who’s Ben Ghazi, and
does he party?
What about the drones?
I take another hit,
Do they deliver pizza?