Its not love
And it sure ain't respect
It isn't that I look up to you,
In fact the opposite.

My decisions you make
My dislikes you dictate
My actions you limit
My dreams you restrict

Confined to the consequences of your past actions
People's interference to view this show
you produce, present, an act all in one,
A one man show
The villain you are
The hero they think
Charming, pleasant and helpful,
Greedy, overbearing and forceful.

A showpiece on your windowsill I remain
Still sane

I’m tired
Of the people,
Who say they care,
But they don’t.


I’m tired of those,
Who say there would,
Always be there,
In the good ones,
Or when your world is falling apart,
But when it does happen,
They live you behind.


I’m tired of all the pedestrians,
That passes through my life,
And that from all of them,
I choose the wrong ones.


I’m tired I spend my nights,
Thinking in every moment,
We may have,
But that in the end,
We don´t spend,
With each other time.

A sea of foliage girds our garden round,
But not a sea of dull unvaried green,
Sharp contrasts of all colors here are seen;
The light-green graceful tamarinds abound
Amid the mango clumps of green profound,
And palms arise, like pillars gray, between;
And o'er the quiet pools the seemuls lean,
Red—red, and startling like a trumpet's sound.
But nothing can be lovelier than the ranges
Of bamboos to the eastward, when the moon
Looks through their gaps, and the white lotus changes
Into a cup of silver. One might swoon
Drunken with beauty then, or gaze and gaze
On a primeval Eden, in amaze.

I want inside.
These windows, sealed shut with silence, keep me foreign.
Im supposed to smile with familiarity.
& smile i do.

My organs bleed, & my roses bloom.

- Mandy Hayes.

Take the knapsacks
and the utensils and washtubs
and the books of the Koran
and the army fatigues
and the tall tales and the torn soul
and whatever's left, bread or meat,
and kids running around like chickens in the village.
How many children do you have?
How many children did you have?
It's hard to keep tabs on kids in a situation like this.
Not like in the old country
in the shade of the mosque and the fig tree,
when the children the children would be shooed outside by day
and put to bed at night.
Put whatever isn't fragile into sacks,
clothes and blankets and bedding and diapers
and something for a souvenir
like a shiny artillery shell perhaps,
or some kind of useful tool,
and the babies with rheumy eyes
and the R.P.G. kids.
We want to see you in the water, sailing aimlessly
with no harbor and no shore.
You won't be accepted anywhere
You are banished human beings.
You are people who don't count
You are people who aren't needed
You are a pinch of lice
stinging and itching
to madness.


Translated from the original Hebrew by Karen Alkalay-Gut.

The absorbent two-ply quilted southern sky
was soaking up the pre-dawn rays
as we were pushing our broken green four-wheeled machine
southbound on Bruce B. Downs
taking up the curbside lane

Our shirts were becoming stained with humid profanities
despite the fan blade traffic throwing a slight breeze
We were slurping brackish blacktop steam from the air
plodding like the Hillsborough toward our destination

My mind was already sauntering back toward a broken green futon
sitting in the section-eight, eviction evaded, apartment
Out the window cross-bred ducks were lording over
scrawny, pseudo-feral worm host cats
for which the knockabout neighbors kept a litter box outside

When out of a clear sky, the bright

Sky over Japan, they tumbled the

death of light,

For a moment, it's said, there was

brilliance sword-sharp,

A dazzle of white, and then dark.

Into the cavernous blackness, as

home to hell,

Agonies crowded; and high above

in the swell

Of the gentle tide of the sky, lucid

and fair,

Men floated serenely as angels

disporting there.

I softly kiss
the back of your neck
because I know
you like it
as much as
I like to hear
the rustle of the sheets
as your mocha eyes
catch me in the dark.
So close that your
shallow breath tickles
my day old shave
and your nose brushes
my stubbled cheek.
My soft goodnight
tiptoes past your ear.
A faint smile and you
nudge me with your knee
or poke me with your elbow
before you turn away,
settling back into the arms
wrapping your chest.

I squeeze a little.
You squeeze back.

Waxing and waning like the phases of the moon
are my emotions for you
Back and forth like the ocean on the warm sand
Crazy is how you drive me
but the cycle goes on
Gravitational pull on my heart
refuses to relieve me

I can't think straight
when others feed
bent information
to my brain

The final product
comes out distorted
from right ear to left
cogs turning in my head

The gears don't mesh
when stories don't fit
the mind was made for straight
information
and can't take these bent up lies