“Anyone who falls in love is searching for the missing pieces of themselves.  So anyone who’s in love gets sad when they think of their lovers.  It’s like stepping back inside a room you have fond memories of. One you haven’t seen in a long time…”

“.. A fond, old, faraway room?”

“Exactly.”

-from “Kafka On The Shore”, Hanuki Murakami

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We mind that there mustn’t be dust

On those closed blinds.

Behind  those  blinds,

We  find  us.

We find ourselves  salving

Our sore selves,

Saving  us  so

Fleetingly.   Completely.

And after each chapter,

Which did us delirious,

It can be  meant as some payment,

It can serve to defray..

It can’t save us, when in a night and a day,

without fail, We derail.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I choose the rooms that I live in with care,
the windows are small and the walls almost bare,
there’s only one bed and there’s only one prayer;
I listen all night for your step on the stair”

Leonard Cohen,RIP, from “Tonight Will be Fine”

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“Would you complain because a beautiful sunset doesn’t have a future or a shooting star a payoff? And why should romance ‘lead anywhere’? Passion isn’t a path through the woods. Passion is the woods.”
― Tom Robbins

 

 

I wonder when one day

We’ll pocket our passions

They’ll fasten  in look-see  neck  lockets

Soon it’ll just seem fair

To wear them

She’ll share hers in sunlight sidewalks.

 

Fashion  will see to it  someday & night We

Could  unabashedly

Could undress off our soft underthings

Could  show  softer

Bold  and  tender

Expressings

AFTER SHE LEFT (Excerpt 1)

August 23, 2016

It’s nonsense you live on

As a sensitive one

False walls should fall

As you give pause to yr farce

I doubt insulation bubbles

Pop so fun  when you can’t stop so

And  open  up

Wounds  et al.

 

FROM PROVIDENCE TO HALIFAX

August 11, 2016

When it’s come to

Coming to in a ditch  without bruises from a beating

& the new thorns are actual thorns

& not all metaphorical ones

All I knew then   I once was thinking

I’d drink my way from Providence to Halifax

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An  “attendant” was sure hell bent

On adjusting my posture

The arms that aimed to secure mine;

They’re hardly hair-free like hers was, were soft. freckled and warm.

STARES

May 29, 2016

 

STARES

 

Where is the wound that shines?

Over 50 years on,

Over this, his day,  on?

My back way against all this memorial day here,

I’ll intentionally send me to a ill-shielded shy there,

Back at again to that  day where

I’m Far too young  to fathom,

Or even  notice   Yr. Crevasse,

Yr  Grande Malaise,

Yr. countdown…Yr. Pass.

It makes me madly think now

It takes  the saddest thing    to tell now..

Stuck in a stack of old NewYorkers

There’s this old drawing

A mere boy  drawn in black & white

Stands on a step of his own basement, stares,

He did look down on his own  livid  apocalypse,

His lips, and the caption say

“It’s  A.O.K.”

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Here is the wound that shines

Tonight, a glint off yr. cracked onyx ring.

I lift it  in my open fist to my lips.

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For always, again, rest in peace, daddy 3/21/1929-5/29/1959