I see you on the street
I should look away
but I won’t.
It’s okay
it’s just a phase
it’ll pass
and so will you.

Melodramatic
Aryan
the waspy waspy
for  Tori Amos
Go, go, go, go now
The car is here
But I forgot to leave the light on
But I too have never seen Barbados
I only want to keep your red head dancing
as you've kept my blonde head
dancing
a happy phantom
from China to New York City
a dancing girl
for so many years

My mother used to advise
get around
to get culture
even the worst place to be has an emergency exit
I'll go where I go
I'll never be where she's been.

not quite a girl
not quite a woman
not really a witch
for lack of a better word
she's quite the witch
her feet
and the sound of her voice
rise and fall
with my patience and libido
for lack of a better way of explaining it
she knows I love her but she doesn't care
for lack of a better method of shutting me up
our lips will meet, greet, say “ta-ta”
off she goes
other side of the room
other side of the globe
her behavior seems to say
“for lack of anything better to do
I misrepresent myself
and choose YOU”
I'm not her plan A,B or C
but lonely punctuation
behind those she'd rather see
our time together haunts me
and took ownership of a part of my brain
I call it love while my physician gives it a different name
for lack of a better way to keep me sane
he feeds me poison and tells me it's okay
I hear her voice
I see her eyes and she sees mine
she smiles, nods and turns away
for lack of a better way to say goodbye
she tells me she'll always be a part of me
anger hurt, searing pain
would be nice to see her again
she was never mine but I was always hers
for lack of any desire to be polite
get em by the throat and never let em go
it is too soon but I was too late
for lack of a better way to give advice
what else is there to say?

This is a poem for Rachel Corrie. I am not religious, and a far cry from spiritual, but I refuse to imagine Rachel Corrie insentient and six feet under, slowly amalgamating with the soil encasing her. Before her death, Rachel Corrie said “I still really want to dance around to Pat Benatar and have boyfriends and make comics for my co-workers. But I also want this to stop.” In the words of contemporary Palestinian poet Suheir Hammad “God has a better imagination than all of us combined” in either God's words or my own, I will not imagine in/on the same ground in/on which I maybe soon will be and more words from Suheir “What do I tell young people about non-violence when they can see for themselves how even orange bright and megaphone loud and cameras and US citizenship will not stop your ******?” what do I tell young people/anyone even myself about “non-violence” when every single thing I've seen presenting itself/perhaps even masquerading as “non-violence” has been in my face and /rude/harsh/unavoidable and most of all, violent? I do not believe in God and humanity is pushing it's luck, but I believe in Rachel Corrie. This is for Rachel;*

I should study a she-wolf's prose
she wanted to write about death
but life would frequently
weasel and wheedle it's way in
there’s an overhanging image
a smaller
yet
infinitely larger
organism
continuously broached
by each word
I only want to study
a caterpillar’s motion
backward/forward /onward
across arms/legs
of this deer/dear
[her] surname/
[my] given name/
separated by [semi/totally] circular VOWels
***** blond hair
dirtied by dust /
rubble /
rhyme /reason/
whatever/ in compliance
with a rep/RESENT/ative democracy
several shades lighter
literally
figuratively
whiter
than she
need no permission
pat benatar
would/should croon
to your moves
every
boy and girl friend
i will/may/have/had
should be yours
entomo/insecto/[social] phobias
I never would’ve said so
I never
would’ve/
could’ve
told the caterpillar

to go

people think and feel one way
but breathe and do a difference
june july together
nineteen eighty never
wind
din
distract
sink
however
no such
thing
luck
wind
blow
whatever