& yet I think of Angels
& of how your voice
with it's smog lilt
seemed to summon them
from the skies for me
I've tried
I cannot hate you
even though
if I could feel anything
I'd probably have a broken heart
You talk of a Polish cleaning lady
now, who stirs your soul
You say, you love her too much
so she's better off alone
To me, your heart's a lock
I love you too much
but are you better off without me
why do I doubt the honesty
of your rejection
had certain things not happened
could I have been the key
to unlock your mysterious heart
the days are growing shorter
the leaves will soon change color
but never can my heart
change from wanting you
no matter how you treated me
no matter I'm a fool
yes, I think of certain things,
revenge of some kind
I see things clearly now
but alas, the heart is blind
& I'm struggling to hold on
to the little pride
I still have left in me
& no, I cannot hate you
even if it would be wise to do.
You're the lock, I'm the wrong key
but I'll never stop dreaming of you

I will not write any poetry tonight
somewhat colder is the night
the cedars sleep
the cat is right
to curl up in dreams
so I will not write any poetry tonight
besides, how many can you write
(unless I want this graphomania,
that some say is our life)
the cedars sleep
the cat is right -
I will not write any poetry tonight
but watch time creep
until the dawn

Hello.
Enjoy.

I am a soup
tomato, preferably

especially savored
in the winter

with a pinch of Salt
or Pepper or a naughty dob of Cream

When I'm warmed up hot
I giggle,

tickled by bubbles
rising through me

In my can I prayed to the spoon
oh let the kingdom come

imagined soup
just flowing free

& then I flowed
& saw the Spoon

it came for me
I trembled in love

but now, I do not know where Soups go
for now I see only this darkness round me

will I be re-born
into something?

The pepper seemed to think
we are re-born into other beings

he was hoping to become
a butterfly

I hope he got
his wish.

for R. you're not reading this, alas & in any case you wouldn't care-

Another sunset,
the clouds stained
Warhol red, passion pink
interspersed with yellow
cider streaks
of dying sunlight
birds ****
leaves, mumbling, rustle
a snail crawls
it should be a full moon
tonight
one of the last
August moons
I'm thinking
of how that summer
in college
it was too hard to breathe
for the heat & pollution
yet how I made it
up that hill every time
birds cease to ****
leaves to rustle
a snail still crawls
August Moon rises
& I think
of werewolves
& how anyone could
be this under the right conditions
faceless office workers
doing time
ripping off shirts
wildly in the night
to howl
in ****** of mundanity
I know how you cope,
like me, you have your poetry
& I have free time
to read it
as often as I want
& to think
of your genius
breaking up minutes
into diamonds
that I keep in my heart
under lock & key
a danger, imminent

She takes her beautiful bones
& carries her woes in her purse

                                                          ­                      the shadow-men haunt her
                                                             ­            the men of the world taunt her
she is both an egg-shell about to crack
& a phoenix about to soar

                                                           ­               she's not asking for sympathy
                                                        ­                  she wants much more
than empty tears
& dry dust in her throat

Frozen pizza & cheese,
ska, movie marathons
these foolish things they remind me
of you, as the song goes

remember that January night
when we lay down on the snow-covered grass
under the lights of Potzdamer Platz
to make snow angels

by the Brandenburger Gate
in a city no longer divided
or living on a tightrope
but living for each breath

In amidst the crisp coldness
we could smell spring
waiting patiently in the air
& it was almost time for our train

we talked of our M&Ms;
a code word just for them
two brothers we loved
bound by this crush

like sisters
not knowing we weren't
to be friends
for much longer

you counted the stars
the stars which were countless
like all the times
I've thought of you since

I am living without you
as without a lover

as without the sun
or the moon

my being is an empty,
cold house

through which only the wind blows
occasionally you come to me

dimly as a ghost in a dream
& I wish never to wake

only to feel you rule me
shake me, quake me

or not feel, rather
but only dimly remember