Poem in the Shape of the Poet Beating Henry Kissinger to Death with Their Bare Hands

By Felix

transcript of poem text, for accessibility:

hooking up with strange men on edibles is fucking awesome until you’re lying in his bed afterward and you can’t shut up about how much you want to hit henry kissinger over and over until he stops breathing. like, did you know that agent orange is apparently 100,000 times more potent than thalidomide at causing birth defects and to this day vietnamese infants have an elevated incidence of congenital disorders, including heart abnormalities, and like you’re not saying that henry kissinger is the reason you were born with a broken heart but wouldn’t it be so fucked up if he was and wouldn’t you then have every right to press your thumbs into his windpipe until he chokes to death and your hookup is like yeah you’re right that would be fucked up i’m sorry but what did you want to get i’m placing the order now and you say two spicy potato soft tacos please and you let him pay for it because he’s white and you’re too stoned to navigate venmo right now and it’s only like $2 but by the time the food arrives you’ve fallen asleep anyway, hand over your heart monitor, dreaming of kissinger’s blood dribbling out his mouth like hot sauce

Felix is a writer with a weird heart. He cannot publish poems about his medical condition without thinking about the Palestinians in Gaza whose hospitals have been destroyed, the Palestinian healthcare workers who have been detained, tortured, sexually abused, and killed by Israeli forces, and all who are made disabled by empire’s violence. Felix hopes his readers will join him in committing to Palestinian liberation. He hopes this with all his heart.