潛意識

i

No map traces the street where
Where two sleeps are, lovers cast adrift
In each other, from their purpose
An evil omen, the French window ajar
Shades down, jilted by sleeping Fate
That has the odor of sexual revolution
Curtained with yellow lace were
Those youthful experiments, like the

ii

No flowers can reveal the lies
We told ourselves, in each other’s arms?
The mouth to mouth of our lost hours
Love drenched in another time, leaving
No silver track to honest feeling
Only a calamity of numbness, resignation
Ousted from the warm bed of hot adventure

iii

No sun holds us steadfast in the narrow dream
Where those two sleepers are
You and I, me and you, those are
Fantasies now held under water
Like a love affair that ruined our life
Eyelids drenched in gold
Powerless, but to stare into the sun.

鯨魚之歌 (Whale Songs)

You, we, I – were actors
You drew up narratives so you could
Tell yourself there was a Pattern
I was in that story, vulnerable muzzled
Like the Night on the coast
I’d walk into your purposeful longings

I knew I was a temporary comfort
You, whose eyes and hands I loved
And mouth, whose foreigness I wished
You, whose words and mind
Was dull, my name held too much compassion

For the role given, too wasted
By the irresponsible human stranger
I was declared obsolete by another
Or like an ancestor that gave no profit
Outcast, abandoned, made to flee the story

Aching for years after the city
Was but a memory, after your child had grown up
I cried sick days alone, in that terror
My heart reincarnated in grief
Your whale-songs were contagious.

熱

i

Enter high summer, longest day!
This higher summer we love will
Pour its liquid light and make us forget
Light-memory erases dark-fantasy
Straining against our veins
Of sunburnt epiphanies and
Skin-cancer worries, and wrinkles

ii

That climb the wrists of time like Dragons
Night frost that barely is brisk enough
To welcome Autumn’s strange roses
These fields have time to grow rich
Like a vibrant testament to our
Continuation among the weeds

iii

Ready to crash into the parade
You who think I find words for everything
Don’t know how loose I am from words
In the Indian Summer heat
You for whom I write, June Bugs…

I WAS LEFT THE LEGACY OF READING

i

All we can read is life
Death is part of her script
Suffering and candles belong
To the living, all around us
And you will end somewhere else
Waiting to die, awkwardly loving
The world that did you some harm

ii

All we can read is beauty
The small anonymous memories
That overpowered others, the questions
Never answered, that don’t belong
To the living or the wise, but
To the great beyond, the quilt of names
That we met, the few faces smiles
By the living, for the living

iii

All we can read is life, flung by hands
That forged children from grassy wombs
Wombs that forgot their mother somehow
In the love that once felt so individual.

Photo Courtesy: http://www.deviantart.com/art/I-give-life-458146106

2015

I am a Jew trapped in a Celtic face
The one both like and unlike you
The first to become a citizen of the World
Ready to renounce Religion, Tribe, Clan

Sweating the Middle East through
My brain, giving my heart to Asia
Hoping for the discovery of new
Exoplanets and the emergence

Of a self-aware AI, some super-intelligence
It’s a corrupt world still, however
There’s nothing left now but
The food of humor, surely not the Environment

I live at the edges, study the fringes
The Immortality at the sleep of dawn
Her dreamless dream of virtual reality
It’s bluer than a violet’s edge

I am a Jew trapped in a foreign face
One among the homeless that lines for bread
And a last cup of clean water
Before water is stolen from Canada
By the United States of corporate greed.