are you a voice in my head*,

a lover,
an either other,
or little of both?
or a
never enough???

you among
a few,
amongst the many,
yes,
all these multiples of
mellifluousness
in my head,
and the lovers both
realized, imaginized,
wedded and bedded,
divorced and beheaded
but
never homogenized,
never containerized,
though blended,
each note has an author(ess)
why,
even why I-love men so much^

my song is pure onomatopoeia,
the incredible blending of
dialects and languages,
words that demand researching,
like black conjointing of a fusing
internal mine melancholy
and the abbreviations
of my concisions,
of my precision

make no apology and never
none,
a one
to be given,
all my excuses have been abducted,
for in my addictive insanity^^
all-in-one
truly trying~howling,
a voice remains~sustains that
borrows my visions,
admix-ed & intrigued by your additions,
which become my taken conscriptions
for you my dearest
inspire so many of
us,
so muchly

                                                         ­                                                 <nmL>

Everything’s
happening,

It just happens
to be
that way.

Isn’t
it saddening
To see the world decay
And fade

Away?

In front of your face,
Out of your control,
Is time a
dimension

Or another string to
Pull?

Doesn’t it pull,
Doesn’t it draw
You toward a feeble

Destiny
that cannot be reached?

If only the world,
time itself could be
Ceased,

And taken from the broken
Hands
Of a broken
Land

That only knows
How to
Bend and fold

But not to make,
to mold.

"How could I live
without metaphors?

To call things by their names,
not to drown in longings,
not to color them,
to make shapes less painful?"^

><<><
this quest, this verse curses
my drifting senses. now all attentions,
the outlined shapes that haunt, daunt,
lacking ****** substance,
just wafers and wines symbolic,
to defer away the many pointy fingers,
hands of nothing but forefingers
aiming exactly at  our temple's
temple
stating most factually,

J'accuse

shadows are metaphors,
images meta-stasizing
into what ever

you believe,
what
you think you meta~need to see,
in the dark late of the light of our soul's night,
so you right of,
you write of
seasonal changes,
hardly illusory,
failing to note, that when you wrote:

How could I live without metaphors?

the answer metaphorical+historical,
for the question is only
rhetorical

for you know~knew

that once we know the name to everything,
we will no longer want them,
but only to write of them in
idealized metaphors
so we can sleep~dream on,
perchance
while the
restoration of the imagination
is our brain sourcing
new things
that seek, crave,
to satisfy our urgent needs

to describe, define, our every fractional moment

How I Observed the Day of Atonement

If you are unfamiliar with day and its observance,
See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yom_Kippur

In a place of perfect solitude,
No crowded synagogue within to hide,
No cantor to intercede on my behalf,
I spoke words of mine own creation
To my creator who wisely empowers me
To judge myself, for knowing, none harsher,

We two,
Old travel companions,
Upon worn grayed, adirondacke thrones,
We overlooked,
A natural prayer place,
Bay and breeze, white-clouded and sun-laced.
Only the full time inhabitants, the animals,
Grayling butterflies to match and contrast,
Eavesdropping on our Greek dialogos, in this,
Palace of Perfect Solitude.

Amiable did we chat,
I of family, this and that.

He, wearied from recent travel,
To Syria and India,
Was glad for a day off,
For he had little to do,
But wait for twilight,
To then close the books.

For us no formality, easy the going,
No prosecutor no defender in residence,
For we exchange these roles intermittently,
The incriminatory, the penance, all deeds displayed,
No adult games of winking eyes, and
Hidden heart, secret chambers,
Rabbinical or angelic intercession.

He does so love his Bach,
Adagio on strings,
My soothing gift to him,
This music more than divine.

He returned this courtesy.

Warming sun to expose my chest,
Cooling genteel breeze offsetting,
The bay emptied of wayfaring skiffs and yachts.

A cooling beverage proffered,
But sighing, he said that he had yet to find
A beverage that his kind of thirst could slake.
For his eyes, tho shining, did not effervesce,
As when we shared this day in years past.

Too much killing, this year,
It tires me so to tabulate human excess,
Spoke not a word, for my critique would
Comfort him less, if at all.

Thanks for Kol Nidre, he plainted,
So I too can disavow,
The best intended oaths I took and take,
For each year, I fail more than the year before.

If only I could sit with each,
As I do with you,
Where what needs saying,
Is said, understood, undisguised as praying.

A schooner to the dock did appear,
For him it attended, for him, it waited,
Sails, both black and white.

He stood to depart, my arms-grasped, taken, he graphing,
Measuring my fortitude, my strengths, my divinity.

I do so love this day in your company.
I shall sit with you again one year on,
Bach sweet when next we meet, please.

Soft spoke, as almost I should not hear,
Your time is nigh, no thing I create is forever.
He spoke with such sadness,
For well I knew, the intent, his meaning.

He, for-himself, saddened, for he loved
Sitting  beside me in this manner,
Since my inception, never deception,

Only He resting easy, when he atoned before me,
And I gave him his absolution conditional,
As he gave me,
mine

<nml>

How do I know what is right?
How do I know when to act
when to argue
when to stay silent
and when not to

How do I know when to do it
and when to not

How do I know
when the right time to fight is?
How do I know what is right?
Does the feeling in my gut tell me?
Or the tears in my eyes?

"It will get better," they say,
but what if it doesn't?
What if I stay like this
until the end of my days,
trying to figure out,
what I should have already known?

And when you ask me how I feel,
I just answer
"A lot"