Dear me,

I hope this letter finds you kind, I hope it finds you at ease,
I hope it finds you as you were born.. a soft spring breeze.

I am writing this letter to inform you that you still have space to unfold, that you are a continuum that doesn’t have to settle for the broken uni-verse where you were unraveled.

You, love, are not limited to your synonyms.

You can develop into a sandstorm speaking the names of the Saharas to your left and to your right.
a sandstorm that does not blind the sufi midnight traveler.
a sandstorm that travels beyond the desert.
a sandstorm carrying a water-well for the thirsty.

You can develop into an ocean that doesn’t stand in arrogance where there is land.
an ocean that waxes and wanes to the rhythm of the moonlight caressing you.
an ocean that doesn’t erode the rocks standing on its shore.

You can develop into a soft spring breeze that makes a home of all the other seasons.
a soft spring breeze that gently ****** through a baobab tree trunk.
a soft spring breeze that playfully tickles the arms of a nesma on her university bus writing this.

Kindly find attached to this letter the love your father has tucked in bed a long time ago and never double checked on it.
Kindly find attached to this letter the understanding your mother stored in the kitchen cabinet she is too short to reach.
Kindly find attached to this letter the forgiveness you have tried to grow out of sunflowers seed every winter.

Always sincerely,

Forever yours.

Falling into the jangce jang
We sing with a clear
voice

Pass me the passport
Sail on the roads
Of perpetual
Drum

Dream of baobabs
Dream of saharas
Levitations

Crush as snake eggs
Thou lamentations

Make me a poet
Surpass me as teardrops
Mingle in every waterfall

Augure my autumn
Argonaut my silken
Wool crave me as a mad
Hatter

Call me a beauty
I'll be your beast

You bet'ya  malcolm came through and
he made easy with it Mr.  Flood.  
I know hes forgetting or hes
choosing to be away forawaile, buddy.
Making deals feel like straw hats.
He ought to win this time, Mr.  Flood.
Or else his wallet objects to Ideals.
Show me more moments when I have
went away to exile because im slipping
on waxed  vanilla floors, face down
in suran saharas covered to sticky crumb
dreams.   Malcolms turning to our clock
gears now, Mr.  Flood.  Let him roast
like cosarole this evning, lets fix another
Drink, Mr.  Boomerango, for malcolms
singularity.  He isnt going to notice!

To you, death

to you I wrote a letter only a lifetime ago
signed as nobody,on the day of never.
In a limbo where I had but a paper and time
to free me from writings of your feather.
An eternity only I begged to stay longer
this contract I've signed I give back.
Enough, you said? No, it wasn't
I thought as you painted me black.



To you, death

you who turned my hourglass upside down
and left her alone to sail the storms of sand.
Saharas in eyes, tears come from another
hides them from world with her hand.
Howls I heard from afterlife, clear and loud
as waves of screams you covered me with.
Drowning me coldly you pulled me under
your heartlessness more than a myth.


To you, death

who closed your eyes at the sight of an ending
seeing such love was a first.
For even you could not reap all we have planted
in the grand Eden on Earth.
Like a snake's venom you infected our heaven
spreading but loss and sorrow.
A disease of the heart, your favourite bred crumb
so you know your way back for tomorrow.

to you, death

who shall receive another letter
signed as a nobody on the days of forever.
In lifetime of being the wind in her hair
she won't feel it again, never.
To touch her face one more time in raindrops
is how I understand bliss.
To shine in her smile as the warmth of the Sun
bathing in ocean's abyss.
To guide her gentle steps in the ground she walks on,
to keep her warm with a flame.
To kiss her lips in the river water
I only can, because I lived again.

To You, Death.

Do not be afraid to take my hand this time,
we've met before but now you're young.
Please, as you're taking me, don't close your eyes
now I walk with you wiser of tongue.
Do not be afraid to guide me tonight
and please have no regrets.
Know that I will gladly meet you
on the side I will pay my debts.
Let's us meet again in peace
now that my chess game is done.
As someone who has become time
and knows you like a son.

Do not be afraid to come for me death,
I promise to go right away.
Do not be afraid to come for me friend,
you can hold my hand if you're scared.

I

February

Einbahnstraße in a
night of black arrowheads/jazz, obliteration perfume/
the twinkle of your
eyes which are engulfed
by youthful nymphs

Fur-lined sable coat
& I
in a jean jacket, hair styled back/
the perspiring windows of Paul Gustavus
open to reveal alizarin (death of day)
velvet curtains
(an appetite for moonlight &
mirrors) the reverberation
echochamber settles over us infused
with alcohol and tea leaves

Basement seclusion,
Deutsch in every direction

Woodstove heat/harsh truths exist in
a Blue Rose of cackling ash, left
disentangled ... duskdancer and copperhue-rooftop Saharas
 billowing madly

conversation as a
room full of isolation, lip -
eye, breath -
hairline/drifting to attic enticement,
bedsheets ruffling like
a winged dove

(insertion/devotion)

I am a North American phantom speaking through written paragraphs

& on my second drink a voice
persuasively licks my thigh/come up from the uneven ground

"feed the moon

relinquish fear

-blindness & burden, parish your
      anticipation for fire"

II

In my restlessness later on, I realize
all I can do is keep my head
high, mimic hope, mimic strength knowing we are
but one brief collision of beautiful
time purposed to split off again
towards a chaos larger than
ourselves.

Remembering The Woman in The Dunes..

"There was a drooling wolf...there was the sun. And, somewhere, he knew not where...there must also be a storm center and lines of discontinuity"

our own repitition of love & labor, warding off the deathhand which always comes back around

... How far do we have to go for lasting tenderness?

III

March


Australian sand/I erase my flesh
in Summer fruit/the air is thick,
I have stopped wearing leather

With iron humility
I task myself to
tillling a steeple into
a breaking cloudbeam

Shall I compare thee to a cradle bright?
Though what shine of diamond gold mighteth beg for comparison’s taste?
Such righteous jealousy fit mere for the maid in the wakest of thy maternality blue.
Thou art always abrighter.

Shall I compare thee to the taste of butter?
Thou art always a sweeter sight; sweeter taste; sweeter touch.
For what canth butter compare to thy winds salted?
Breezes of milk and honey which kisth my tired, loving eyes, as I bid away the sun?

Perhaps thou mightst be held to the mere earthworm? An extension of thy will.
Thy gentle hands. Gardeners of thy Eden. Greeners of the dead and brown.
Ye soft escorts of thy exhausted children; guiding to thy womb; reclaiming our empty vessels in careful embrace when cometh our arrival home.

Alas, continue in such delusional pittings with what fine conscious, I cannot.
If thou beest compared to these prior, thou beest compared to thyself.
Thyself that be butter, earthworm and sun.
Thy maternality to every mater vixitum, and every patron of thy leaf and sky.
Thyself that be peasants of the sand and soil.
That be the tyrants.
That be their toys.
Thou art seen in thy saltwater Saharas,
Felt in thy grass and thy stone,
Heard in the sparrow. In the flicker of a fire drenched in music and dance.
In stories of love and soul.

Shath none dare compare themselves to thee.
Thou art our Gaea. The Earth Mother. Ki.