that’s no way to say goodbye.

March 7, 2014 § 3 Comments

my father loved cohen:

“let’s not talk of love or chains and things we can’t untie”

my mother did not thrive on sadness, or

had already been through those wars.

whatever: she never let it near, enough to hear the darkness

in the chords.



March 5, 2014 § Leave a comment

it’s a state of knowing

this isn’t it. G-d I’m done waiting take me there

now, even if it’s not for me.

I’m tired and I want to be held like a child.

I’m post-fear and I want to be helped up and held.

if that’s no way to say goodbye

take me there now.

I’m done with this patience for sorrow

and smsing captured sunsets that don’t seduce anyone onto the immediacy of a Boeing

or into the urgent eye of post-fear panic syndrome.

and I’m a stepping stone until the next-big-thing

and I’m a leonard-cohen-track demanding to be drowned out rather than half-listened-to

and I’m background noise desperately seeking the attention of a wayward spotlight

who has his eye on the backstage safety-net multiplicity of me’s.


many there are.


have your freedom at the expense of another.


February 22, 2014 § Leave a comment

no fascinator I am not.

let ella take the heat. beautiful skin and an empty vessel don’t put me in.

fascinator I am not and my life is not a performance for anybody’s sake but

G-d I am his to take.


not for the sake of fascination, but continuation. let me be full and at peace from the

inside in, about ten spaces from my neshama and ten seconds from



February 22, 2014 § Leave a comment



sent me a life and took it back again to show me I was discarding my own;

wrong one, wrong time, honeyland.


but Livia, Livia, eyes of Leah

if I forget you my life my unborn, my tie untied to him;

if I must give you up let G-d hold me tree-tight and let my tongue forget

your name,


I cannot bear its



February 16, 2014 § 2 Comments

neshama sheli

where are you my soul.

I’m cold. I’m cold. I’m cold.


a poem by Neruda, to whom I resort when I’m left wordless.

January 31, 2014 § Leave a comment

If You Forget Me:


I want you to know
one thing.

You know how this is:
if I look
at the crystal moon, at the red branch
of the slow autumn at my window,
if I touch
near the fire
the impalpable ash
or the wrinkled body of the log,
everything carries me to you,
as if everything that exists,
aromas, light, metals,
were little boats
that sail
toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly
you forget me
do not look for me,
for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,
the wind of banners
that passes through my life,
and you decide
to leave me at the shore
of the heart where I have roots,
that on that day,
at that hour,
I shall lift my arms
and my roots will set off
to seek another land.

if each day,
each hour,
you feel that you are destined for me
with implacable sweetness,
if each day a flower
climbs up to your lips to seek me,
ah my love, ah my own,
in me all that fire is repeated,
in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,
my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.

anger and burnt challah.

January 31, 2014 § Leave a comment

black spinach

is all I have to say to you.


on the death of the Florentine nonleft:

because stolen paintings are of more importance than those lives beyond indigenous-ness.


G-d take this material nothingness from our midst, and I’ll rebuild the mishkan with my own bare hands.


black spinach and burnt challah.

anger serves no purpose beyond perpetuating the illusionary chance of change when there is only



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