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11:03 Sun Sep 20 2020
2nd Day Rosh Hashana 5781
S.I., N.Y.

when I was twenty years younger, I wrote oft introspectively,
nowadays, today, provoked by the High Holy Day, the New Year,

it is my only filter, lens, and this solitary perspective that this moment affords, permits, demands, commands, insists on,  
prepared by this confession, so that I may better return to the union of my divine spark, unify body and soul, recover my true self,
by acknowledging that I am
not beholden to anyone,
therefore, thereby,
     beholden to everyone

how inconsistently wonderful that additional experience, alive in a time of upheavals, pushes me past the first stanza, where most often, my poems, prayers, go to rest uneasy, incomplete, only to be buried alive in me.

Yet, here I am stuttering, sputtering, words that come unexpectedly!
I have reached a second stanza, with the ending well sighted, nearby. The collective, overlaid wake of each passing boat, finger pointing, a road line for following, to a larger directive, a river emptying into a great ocean, birthplace & graveyard

premature celebration as it’s weeks till I return to this poem-in-progress on a bleak week, the winterized grays have dominated, the freshness of sunlight is just an occasional peekaboo.

The larger directive now suppressed, the pilings of damp brown leaves, multi-message; funeral. mounds of good days gone to hell, the inward perspective has returned me to a deep, dark place.

(Stutter, stutter, each day asseverates solemnly with tinges of rancor, no, no, no, still no answers yet, the second and third stanzas are *******, suns of no man.)
one of the
many things
i've never been
able to suss out &
one that sticks rough
in my craw for that fact
is how whenever i've chosen
to not turn off, because it doesn't
have an offswitch, and while we're
not kidding ourselves, no one does
it by accident, on some level you
have to actively decide not to
listen to her voice, but i'll
try to close the circle
quickly; in those
spells, sometimes
going on for many years,
often just for one night, or
even just a few single
moments followed
up by lifetimes'
of regret, the
two don't
match up
by chronology
but by the depth
of hurt caused, still
not the thing that won't
leave my curiousness, that
after trying to ignore her
for awhile, leading to
big and usually not
positive by any sort of
measure, she manifests
through others, like the
winter long ago and sitting
down with a guy sleeping rough
drinking coffee and talking, like
how to keep from freezing to
death when it's less than -40C
with wind chills eq. of -90C
(as soon as having enough
change, buying and nursing
and thawing out), as i was
bundled up along side him
as people walked by, and you
wouldn't believe the vile
mocking remarks, and he
had a cup out, sure, he
was begging like people
have since the dawn of time,
and always will who are in a
tight spot whether of their
own making or that of
others', it's a lonely
and painful existence,
i know first hand that
for more than a year
but less than two &
no one would pick
that life over one of
comfort and leisure
that i've ever met
and i swear the
emotional pain
on his face, in his
eye's it was like a
reflection of in just
that moment what the
eyes of christ crucified held,
a wholesale rejection full of
unearned scorn and viciousness
those without homes to live are
also somehow for some reason
like this societal cruelty valve-
of-reduction, a way to blow
off a stream of anger, and
frustration & contempt,
i believe that so, at least
since we were the then
reagan scapegoat-
of-the-month club
member, and once
a scapegoat always one,
the immense power and
danger our political leaders
hold for good, or for ill, is awe-
inspiring in that old sense,
as in awe of something
both to wonder but
also to tremble
in fear of its power,
and long after reagan
is forgotten, non-existent
in the ordinary and average
public consciousness, his dog
whistles will still echo around
his country, a country with
3rd world war-zone
metropolises full of
***-infected gay
(when it was only
spoken like it's an
inherently bad
thing), drug
and either
homeless because
Black people are born
lazy and have to overcome it,
only the sly, and devious are
rolls royce-driving welfare
queens, the drug dealing
crips and blood and
gangster disciples,
or the crazed-by-
nature willie
hortons, born
to ****, and all
with a governor's
blessing, and all this
truly nauseating lying
particularly when it is at
someone else's expensive,
just like in comedy it's a
cheap laugh to get when
just sticking a branch
into a hive and
twisting it a
bit, not like
taking a shot
at yourself, those
ones you stay safe and
protected, like passing a
burning house and throwing
rocks at the windows, instead
of asking what you can do to
help put out the fire, and the
you have to show
yourself, opening up
to the ridicule you
dish out in big
helpings but
don't want
to face, that
was me again
for about an hour
and i kept marvelling
at how his eyes told so much
with a dozen emotions expressed
in every wrinkle, the exacting
arc of the brow tips, it was i'll
swear to my grave, and if
only in my addled and
oft troubled mind, i
saw the epitome of
what 50 years of
the inescapable
cultural immersion
in all things christianity
like it's as inescapable as
this 7-11 at my back, what i
saw, not hallucination so much
as illumination, the face of
christ crucified, his eyes
dry of tears, but still
they are betraying
buckets of tears
in the past, and a
weight beyond anyone's
capacity, people making
a sport of kicking someone
when they're down, and
saw and heard so many
spew absolute venom
at us, when if we
were working
men having our
coffee break at 2
in the pm, not am,
we'd be invisible, and
compassion was hijacked
by anger, and i hadn't i'm sure
given even a hint, maybe not
mentioning parents was a
tip, but she was there
appearing right in
front of my eyes,
my conscience that
i'd been ignoring, and
that's my strangest secret
belief, that if we ignore her
inside our own hearts she'll
somehow speak through
another, curious folks
at curious times, and
as i was walking
home he called out
you should make some
sort of peace with your dad

and i have no rational
explanation, it's not
subjective like the
pain on a face, &,
yeah, a lucky
guess, but
that's so
beyond any
given those very
particular types of
circumstances, so there
it is... and i listened and
a good thing i did when
dad passed unexpected
just six months on,
and it makes me
wonder if angels
are real as in messengers,
and all around us, we might
be ones ourselves when prompted
to say something out of the blue
when it just feels right, like
we're all part of something
bigger that's all connected
so when one person itches
another scratches for them,
or when we sneeze others
having a tissue at hand, and
i'd rather not have things i can't
explain, but should i come across
things i cannot, i'm going to
leave nothing unturned
of the lesson it seems
to be wanting
to teach me.
rockin' in the free world jam
setting just
for a few moments
any arguments over
the existences of deities
or afterlives of eternal blisses
to eternal nothingnesses, supposing
there is, if we make the cut just by
the skin of our teeth we may be
very surprised by some of the
faces we see up there, but
even more surprised by
how many we sadly
do not see for
reasons far
on the great unknowable of life-after-death
  2d lovejunkie
I’m not cold I’ve just been shaking since you got home.

you told me I wasn’t enough

“if you ever thought I didn’t see being with you for the rest of my life, you’d be wrong”

Everything you do makes me feel like I’m not enough, which means that every single day I ache. And you will never experience that.

“You’re so beautiful, Madeline”

Remember when this was supposed to be forever?

The realisation of knowing you’re gone and what we had is forever over, will always sting and ache always.

We can start over again
You were meant to be my forever.
we should all
always be striving
to understand more,
truly embracing pluralism
as the principle to serve with
yet above all others, it could
lead to as close to world
peace as we could go,
and on whole constellations
of issues reasonable people
see that highly intelligent
and good-hearted folks
with only the very
best of intentions
can legitimately
disagree, and
there the
itself than itself
is somehow drawn,
either/or there comes
a time where that line
protects, and that time is
now, and the name of
that line is democracy.
no concerns or grievances, taken altogether and multiplied orders of magnitude are more important than her. there's a line in the dirt, fair warning given & woe to those who would cross it to attack her.

~ ~ ~
brig.-gen. paul triquet vc, cd, van doos,
monument aux valeureux, confederation square
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