He painted his face each morning
In the most eccentric colors.
To make her forget the dullness
Of the world around her.

-Toska

I breathe in deep.

And yet you keep
having me chase
the next as if a lungful
wasn’t enough.

In my youth I grasped for
more than I could possess.
Now grey of hair and beard,
I have learned less can be
more than enough.

Humans are by our natures
nurturers, we thrive when
giving, we take in stray animals
raise and love them like our own
children, if they by their natures
eat our sofa, crap on our carpet
we readily with charity forgive
them, clean up their mess and go on.

Is it not sad that we cannot always
extend or receive that same charity
of tolerance to or from the humans
in our lives?

a desire to erase,
to stay away forever.

an opportunity to transfigure,
to sit on the floor and wait for storms.

a line to cross, a lion at dusk,
a catastrophist.

a pen filled with acid,
a book of theories full of holes.

once this begins, there are only endings.

The aroma of those Lilacs,
will be green...
Its buds...
Your buds...
Among the white dress
they move;
your eyes...
Dead summer cherries...
Among your ears
So they have voice;
your eyes...
And your hands,
 A moment;
suspended
in time....
And how burning they will be this year
the whiteness of your hands,
In the absence of
white orange blossoms
in the garden
In the absence....

Be careful
not to fall
for her
tricky ways
she confuses
and keeps you
wandering deep
in her convoluted
maze
She is dark
You never know
what she wants
nor does she
she is fluid
she just likes to see
you squirm
She is jealous
there is nobody better than her
or else
She is cold
She twists words
into sour lemons
makes you question yourself
wondering who you are
in her convoluted maze
The trick is to know
you will never please her
so if she invites you
into her silly labyrinth
respectfully decline

They will fall to the ground...
Blossoms of the cherry tree...
Without you,
being in my womb...
ripening grain,
And the heady scent
of primrose flowers
from the moon...
and his dust...


به روی زمین خواهند ریخت...
شکوفه هايِ درختِ آلبالو...
بی آنکه تو،
در رَحِمَم باشي...
دانه اي،
در حالِ رسیدن...
و عطرِ خوشِ پامچال ها...
از ماه
و خاكِ او....