Caution, lost in the motion,
The tender lapse of green sea waves
The scent that has become you,
Sweet, sweet summer rain.

Like magnets, the polar pull, subsequent and building
The silent seize of your stomach muscles
Oh honeycomb.
Wrapped in cellophane, and the fleece in our ears

Your chin, the small hollow in which rests my head,
The cradle of your Adam's apple.
For hours I studied the color transmit in the darks of your eyes,
Of subtle change and shade

The soft, downy wool of your legs,
Warm blankets rescued from the creaking loft.
And your slow, sleeping breaths, of wind whistling through wheat fields
Shared dreams of barefoot gardens, sweet peppers in springtime

The gentle obstinacy of your fingers,
Extended forward in the thaw of shallow slumber.
The difference between oak and pine,
This nest you constructed, we lay in.

Nestled underneath the galaxy you installed, pin by pin.

Two men in a room.
Zelman and Abel
Zelman: "What good would she be to you if you had her?"
Abel: "None at all I suppose. Achievement for achievement is all I aim for. You are right I guess."
Zelman: "Right about what? I havent made any assumptions or predictions with that question. I have merely tried to understand better why you mourn so, the love that only inspires when it is absent. Which by the way, only shows that it is not love for her but, love for longing love's sake."
Abel: "Where, might I ask do you keep these insightful words of yours? And why do they come always at the most inappropriate times?"
Zelman walks to the guitar and plucks it one way and then another.
Zelman: "It is not, my dear friend the words that are insightful in themselves but, how you use them all together. With a space here, a comma there, a breath of fresh semi-colon. Not the love of the words but what you make of the love."
Abel:"My heart only pounds when it is void and the sound of my yearning has space to echo within its unkept walls."
Zelman walks to the door, opens it and, while walking out says;
Zelman: "Your heart pounds only when you can hear it, only when you know it is there. Unfit for happiness is the man who does not understand the simple truths of himself.  And unfit for life is the man who runs in circles."

WIFE and servant are the same,
But only differ in the name :
For when that fatal knot is ty'd,
Which nothing, nothing can divide :
When she the word obey has said,
And man by law supreme has made,
Then all that's kind is laid aside,
And nothing left but state and pride :
Fierce as an eastern prince he grows,
And all his innate rigour shows :
Then but to look, to laugh, or speak,
Will the nuptial contract break.
Like mutes, she signs alone must make,
And never any freedom take :
But still be govern'd by a nod,
And fear her husband as a God :
Him still must serve, him still obey,
And nothing act, and nothing say,
But what her haughty lord thinks fit,
Who with the power, has all the wit.
Then shun, oh ! shun that wretched state,
And all the fawning flatt'rers hate :
Value yourselves, and men despise :
You must be proud, if you'll be wise.

utatane ni
koFisiki Fito wo
mitesi yori
yume teFu mono Fa
tanomisometeki


As I dozed
The man I love
Appeared, so
It is dreams that
Have begun to comfort me.

Its faded pink parka,
Stretched tight across its shoulders
Even in the summer twilight,
Crinkles, stale newspapers and plastic bags
Cacophony with the rhythmic
Thud of shopping cart wheels.

Its rotten malt liquor stench--
Astringent ammonia sweat
Runs in rancid rivulets down
Decaying skin on decaying face.
Pimples and pus and
****-notched teeth.

It offers a drink
In exchange for change.
My pockets jangle noisily,
But I offer only empty hands.