Evy was a Hasidic    beatnik
who smoked *** &  listened
to Coltrane; her best  friend
Becky was Eli's third  wife;
Becky never suspected the
affair, when Eve went into
the field to watch Eli paint;
she'd come back w/ paint all
over her back & her  dark  clothes
.                       ruined; Becky never got it;
she had a household to run
while Eli was out in the wild  poppy field
making a       fool of himself
before God &                         getting paid;
Eli married her      precisely b/c
she was so clueless; Becky
had been an art major; she &
Eve going to the same  college;
Eve lived on a settlement in Israel & only flew
in a couple of times a year;                      Eve
always left Eli w/ visions of                      the
Holy Land; her sweaty flesh
reeking of stolen land &  Arab
death in the desert; her people
inheriting the crimes against
humanity perpetrated by their
spiritual forebears the  Nazis;
Evy wore her hair in dusty dreads
that she wore down to her ***                   but that
she always ******* in a wide scarf
when ******* Eli on the ground;
Eli saw Eve as an exotic Semite
from an ancient nomadic race; she
saw Eli as a painter shown in                   blue-chip
galleries around the world;                   Eli himself
knew he was fraud, too influenced
          by the decadent blank-page movement
of his Nihlist Russian friends: Eli
lit a joint & looking up at the dark sky,
decided to call his next painting
'The           Golden                   Calf';           for Evy

I still feel your breath on my neck sometimes
With that stiff, clinical hand that you placed upon my spine
Examining my face for harsh, worrisome lines
As I walked the chemical tightrope that exists only in mind

Now, still precariously balanced, still unanimously blamed
I'm holding out for your smile in each passing face
Though it's been years since they burned you in cold Virginian flames
I can still see you watching me through the windowpane

My name displaced in your mouth like some placid stone
The weight on your tongue silencing thoughts unknown
As your fingers nimble upon needles, weaving our winter clothes
Once slept in a box where your ashes now are stowed

You held no Catholic reservations, nor illusions implausibly sweet
And left me with no bullets to deliver from stolen grief
But sometimes, in my dreaming, you offer me reprieve
With skin so milky white, loose and starch like a sheet

I watched you behind that curtain, with satin on your back
In the flickering light of candles, where shadows often pass
And criss-cross in patterns, over blue eyes watery and vast
To ignite a glowing smirk, whose teeth do shimmer like glass

Your hair still wispy and short, the color of strawberries faint
Fallen in a gossamer crown, to covet your wrinkled face
You would take to me like a feather, and swath me in your immortal embrace
Speaking divinely of Heaven, and all your ghostly grace

With that kind, melodious laugh I have so terribly missed
Pressing rosebuds to my temple in a matriarchal kiss
A dream we were in, your wings reverently clipped
For a time, if only, I felt within your loving grip

You warned me not to be fooled, to make no mistake
You would have returned to your grave by the time that I should wake
With trembling fingers clinging tightly to your remains
Standing in your old room, the bed forever made

I remembered whispering in your ear, as your conscious mind wore thin
Life support wailing, the color drained from your lips
My fingers searching desperately for the pulse that was buried in your wrist
I told you I would never forget you: my precious, parting gift

Whenj he shaikd I wasd not normilo I sad .
Feel insid I nit cirroct, thes maks me seddingtew
The bigg men ssai no tome, I lik deck en mi battem’
Wen je sai I soo sed I cri evy dai of aprel.

Wun dai I weas sed I mad mislef dei of rabbes
Wen I med dog hee *** do sed wot I dei
Hee tel me to no bee dei anymooor
Bow I em fin adn a shappy preson.

Just​
Evy
All
Losers
Oh​
Ur
Scared