WRITINGS
 
 
One day we will return…
 
In the wake of all sensitive issue I desire surrealism as Dali imagined the melting clock of time morphing who said that time, internalized, would be whatever its maker made it, like a piece of furniture whose finish could have been Oak or Walnut but instead was chosen Cherry;
  Take what you want! I want nothing more. I had a dream once, but the dream desisted; I grow old/ you grow colder in the constant/ the cut off of limb and a licentious neediness.
    Do I even know what I’m saying? What I write, the subliminal. It’s been so long since we were so close and now there is the Grand Canyon/ I drop in.
  I told you – you will die too. You didn’t want to believe me, but it happens
to
everyone, really. You should believe me, I’ll never steer you wrong.
  Was it cliché? You should have told me, you should have let me know that everything, everything under the sun has been goddamned written,even your DNA etched into a
double helix.
 What makes me write? Goddamn, if you don’t stop asking me. There is a song I keep hearing and I’m hearing and hearing it and that is like the pen that keeps writing and writing but it is not me, I’m telling you; it is not me writing.
    
 I lost it all when I lost the community that drove me; 107 in the slow lane and you want to know when life got so dangerous; and I can’t believe what people are capable of; I’m on the verge of living.
     Under the damned damning damness of a human construct that can hold multiple Mac trucks I hear the warped convex sound of madness;
    There was a dream once. What was it?
Me, jailed in the periphery/ you, like my memory, painful / an apparition of innocence
    I desire the first pain. Do you remember? I can’t, the hurt was so new scar tissue formed around it.
   Now I run machinery in an old metal factory on the outskirts of a dying Brooklyn more hurt by change than I am 
  
This nostalgia…
Where is the old world? I hunt and I gather the earth to subsist – create run after run after run. Even an inch counts, even a pica.

  And I’ve gotten meticulous with age – learned patience; I will wait for you now until there are inventions I can’t believe in; I will wait, like my mother for me, for you to return…
   My hair will turn gray and Dali, Dali, tell me how to waste time into the periphery, tell me how to morph time into the prehistoric and I believe that elephants will walk on legs, thin as hay, that won’t snap; I believe, yes I believe, that the weightless can carry weight; I believe, yes I believe, that one day, we will all return…
 
 
 
 
Brooklyn Passing
 
Closing my eyes on the backs of your bridges 
      I’m walking away
All things crumble 
 The ancient structures
Our sweet memories
     And everything changes
Even you
I stood on your spine 
   Watching buildings burn
My innocence
      And the women that held me
 
One last time down Ryerson one last time down Park one last time down Flatbush and I’m crossing the upper deck in the dark
 
       The wall of Manhatty edifices like soldiers
Allowing me pass
       I weave my way on
There are great loves
   but I must go
blown on a wind like dander
                           stuck in the hair like a feather
 salty in the mouth as a taste is
                these many things at once
world carries me in many ways
    across the bridges and the rivers, through the forests and the mountains, traversing open fields and gorges, beyond oceans and continents to the place I belong 
   this world is ours
the less we seek the lesser we are
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                                                  EVERYTHING / TO /
 
Everything is nothing/All earthly business a mirage/You too will feed the lichen/You too will run into the river from the lake from the tributary whose mouth feeds the universe ocean/and the pregnant doe was so undernourished that empty winter that her body absorbed the evolving fawn/all sanity is gone/ and instead of constructions of order I find dollar bills heaped where the buildings were/my head feels as though it is full of thoughts all empty of meaning/where did I come from?/ but I will never know/the indignity of this situation is realizing I am lost in a world so full/every segment mapped/ but what are my coordinates?/ I have taken a compass that has led / me to mountains / mountains to me
and I and they are reflected/ in this world we can be touched / fleshy swollen hands to       stone-packed earth / soil the smell of nightcrawlers and new / my feet bare when I take off my hikers and the cold of the dirt under my flat and heels / the putch of rocks coming up hard under the tough / but I bend to the lake and touch / and every sense expected / is proven unreal / my world is but water / and I too will run into the river from the lake from the tributary whose mouth feeds the universe ocean  
Return
 
As I have watched them all walk away
Only their shapes remaining
Imprint in a memory, a reverie
I become a husk

Something shed away
 
And as each rough thread peels down
I dissipate
I remember your smell, your milky breath
I become a husk
I lay my body down
 
Would I have done different, if
Would I have been able
to close my hand around the disappearing sand
I lay my body down, and think
Only if
 
And can it all return, reappear
Your faces unchanged, your hearts unmarred
Our lives rearranged
I lay my body down, a husk
And dream that you reappear
But I move now from husk to threads
Back to the earth
My life rearranged

And can it all return, reappear

Can we weave this change back from a memory, out of these threads
Or only end undone
Desire full grown
 
Willing to ever live up to the legends told around me, the voices outside and within me; begging for freeing, I look down the ledge, they said, don’t look down; the tempting of the senses, what kinds of beings are peaceful; there’s never enough love to not break down; wanting to be open above all things, to be opened, the sky is opened by lightning, like god is opened by the loss of all things; pushing into something, so open there’s no talking, how long it’s been asked for, that was desired too much; was it a thing that couldn’t be spoken for fear of its realness, the fear of its freeing; fearing for learning, trying but burning out in the cold nights, who sleeps alone; bodies speak from inside, how many miles does desire travel in the starblown night, and I’m grown now; I am grown. 
 
Willing to ever grow into this skin; still seeking the elements, desiring the carnal lust, and yet fearing our sin. Through every night that puts up every planet, every moon we haven’t walked yet, every cataclysm, seeking this freeing, the open place, the place in me of fearing. We drift along; sensing now for yearning, and I am grown; I know that my sin is only the learning, of loving, overcome; I drift along, and I am grown. And we are grown.    
 
Sweet space, in the vulnerability of me where you touch; what’s taken, move one thing from the equation, and never know; regret seeps in as pleasure seeps out of this, loss of loneliness, swollen lips, musky lust; swept low and blown, rolling across a wideout landscape, fields of wheat , dirt, our flesh met beneath the china sky.
 
Wanting, fearing this most haunting desire, running; wanting, but feeling you haunting me, do we know what is wrong or is it so raw; pulled from the earth, extracted, taking what I needed, bitter almond on my tongue; trickling down the thighs as something that’s released, shuddering, the loss of mind in lust; cage of ribs why do you keep this heart in, release the venerable things, sweat trails on vertebrae, thighs opening warm, your sweet words; and allow me the ability for once to love.