keeps on rolling like a cat with a ball of string,
unravelling, travelling seemingly endlessly
into infinity, until one day it just

I got the flu in mid January and it's nearly Spring and still I cough
but I decided to force myself to go out
and get on Bart and go to Berkeley
and I saw things
stared at an ad for "American Idol" on the platform
for an unseemly amount of time trying to figure out which
human representation had been more photo-shopped
Fascinated, coming out into another land other than work home bed

Standing on the Bart platform, with no evil smells like the New York City subway and a breeze
and a polite voice telling me when the train would come
And at the next station an ad for the Jewish Museum and a young Ethiopian Jewish man
has an exhibit there and I felt good, that yes, there is such awfulness in Israel
but even there, like here, some can rise

And then Berkeley and my favorite cafe,
and it so reminds me of Columbia University, only cleaner
but it doesn't hurt about my X anymore
but it reminded me of my cat who was dieing in July and
he didn't want me near him too much because
dieing things like small spaces and not too much attention
so I left him in the closet curled up as cancer worked it's inevitable devastation

And I was coughing and tired, an invalid at the end of the day
but I made it to the Shattuck Cinemas to watch "Lincoln" and they have
a bar, and couches in the theater and you can take drink in if you're over 21
and that was our idea, in my days as a theater manager, we'd
talk about ways to bring more people in and we suggested couches and alcohol
and our manager laughed and thought we were crazy
but here is crazy and people walk in and love it
I sat in the back and took up a whole two seat couch selfishly and
listened to people come in and say how nice it was

Today I was an invalid again and could hardly get up
but the memory, it was worth it
I am slightly more alive again

I’m addicted
To lying with gentlemen
Breathing unrestricted
To surface every now and then

Second amendment rights
Cigarettes & car rides
Away from bright city lights
In the dark society confides

An early morning fire
Pass me a burning ****
Bring me all the higher
Remove societies’ yoke

I daydreamed my way to the sea
                                                             ­   and made a sandcastle my home.

You texted me last night
telling me to come over and hang out
and I was real excited
and kinda nervous
but I tried to clean up as best I could
got in my car
and headed over to your house
and then turning left onto your street
I barely saw it coming
Crash
trapped in my flipped car
It was my first crash
and the cops came
and the EMT's
and the firemen
and somehow I walked out
completely unscathed
and I know I should be thankful for that
but my first upside down thought
was that I wouldn't be seeing you tonight
and that maybe it was some sort of sign
but I've always been one to ignore signs
Nobody was answering my phone calls
and I was freaking out
vibrating in the midst of an adrenaline earthquake
but you came
when I texted you what happened
and you brought me a little juice box
and gave me a hug
and even though my car was destroyed
it was still nice seeing you

'Why keep a cow when I can buy,'
Said he, 'the milk I need,'
I wanted to spit in his eye
Of selfishness and greed;
But did not, for the reason he
Was stronger than I be.

I told him: ''Tis our human fate,
For better or for worse,
That man and maid should love and mate,
And little children nurse.
Of course, if you are less than man
You can't do what we can.

'So many loving maids would wed,
And wondrous mothers be.'
'I'll buy the love I want,' he said,
'No squally brats for me.'
. . . I hope the devil stoketh well
For him a special hell.

What if people were not flesh?
Perhaps instead made of books
Sheaves of paper and pots of ink
Words, words, words
Filling the pages
Shaping the heart, shaped from the heart
Telling the life story on the skin
And through the layers of body
The heart detailing the loves and passions
And heartbreaks it has felt
The tongue and stomach telling
Of the delicious foods they've tasted
The mind regaling the stories and tales
It has heard and read
The eyes etched with pictures
And places and people
The ears curling around their recollections
Of songs and voices past
And last, the lips.
Inscribed with the memories and tastes
Of every kiss stolen and each word spoken

This morning I watched you
stumble into the bus
like a drunken moth:
straw-headed, foggy,
jacket clinging to you
by one shoulder
like an ironic flag.
America has claimed you!
Just like Our Moon,
those ironic flags of liberty.

Chortling, choking
on nothing but your
immovable child-like
sadness. Leathery
wings sprawled, gaping,
stinking of whiskey and ****.
You were screaming
at a woman across the aisle
whose eyes also gaped,
who didn't see the revolution,
who feared her reflection in the
eyes of "Made In The USA".

Who is she? What form
have you given her?
The mother who soaped
your tongue with her bitter morals?
The sister who boiled her
life away on a spoon?
The lover who embraced your wounds
despite EVERYTHING
and then became one?

You were eating an apple
from your pocket,
"Red Delicious,
the MOST American fruit!"
It was mostly rotten, sweaty
brown core staring into me
like a terrible moth's eye.

I watched you until
my stop,
I'm sorry I don't know why.
When the bus-man shoo'ed you off
I heard you scream after me,
really howling.

I'm sorry I can't save you,
I'm a moth too.

I ran home this morning
and left all the lights on.