sitting at mcdonald's
on the free wifi
sipping sweet tea
and reading
all the offerings here

a cold chill
bent me over

and I thought of
the new cold war
that threatens to ignite

and somewhere
comes the idea
that someone
is walking on my grave

it could well be

I remember that spring
That summer
I was asked for color
You have forgotten your gloves...

یادم می آمد
آن بهار را
آن تابستان را
از من می خواستند رنگ بزنم
...دستکش هایت یادت نبود

it is a new little ribbon, for you. i will tie here, yet not too tight.   it has been a long time now.   yes.

. a long, long time.



thread bare.    nap worn                           the                 warp       shows through.   sounds sweet, none of this plush and sensuous stuff.



the dream, the shroud parted a while. visitors came,                         the day proceeded gently with          stops     and dictation, who is this?            we worried over news, trembled a while, gathered back the warp, the weft.                                      today we continue.



much of the time is spent with this or other things which pass the day nicely. linen  hangs  heavy, needles preserved. small holes ready.



it don’t work if not connected, if not tuned in, you would think the experts would know that.  we need to signal to another.



sbm.

I am a collective
an ongoing collaboration
a group enterprise

I revel in my diversity
sit in its lap
while being carefully groomed

Nothing becomes me
like agreement among friends
Nothing fills my sails
like the wind of good company

When all my words
are stilled
when every breath is drawn
then you might come near

When every tale is told
and when myth
becomes gossip among friends
then
and only then
will I willingly depart.

That's the day,
friends,
when we all meet
on that distant shore,
when sweetness dissolves
into the dark.

I have one foot
in the beyond already.
My ticket is punched
my resolve unmatched.

Give me your hand, my friend,
in good cheer
for nothing now will leave us bereft.

Never yet alone
never yet divorced from grace.

Amen.

during my worst times
on the park benches
in the jails
or living with
******
I always had this certain
contentment-
I wouldn't call it
happiness-
it was more of an inner
balance
that settled for
whatever was occuring
and it helped in the
factories
and when relationships
went wrong
with the
girls.
it helped
through the
wars and the
hangovers
the backalley fights
the
hospitals.
to awaken in a cheap room
in a strange city and
pull up the shade-
this was the craziest kind of
contentment

and to walk across the floor
to an old dresser with a
cracked mirror-
see myself, ugly,
grinning at it all.
what matters most is
how well you
walk through the
fire.