in memoriam Woodrow (Woody) Rifenburgh*      

The soft purr of a Piper Cub
drifted over Italy's southern hills.
Soul stirred by the landscape’s song,  
the young army pilot gently spoke.

“It’s mighty peaceful up here.”

Touching wheels to the tarmac,
Woody shed his flight suit
for an engineer’s desk
and placed a viola beneath his chin.

For three score years
Woody molded horsehair and wire into string song
steadying the orchestra’s midriff
with the vibrations of his spirit.

On Christmas Eve he played for the coming child,
fell stricken and flew his last flight
on instruments at Memorial.  

Early New Year’s morn one could almost hear
the faint soft purr of a Piper Cub
as it banked to the right around the moon
and merged with the waiting heavens.

In this tangled web of energies
emerges truth ,
lined with golden love.

Tentacles grasp and hold,
striving to keep smiles alive and well.
Forcing back negative entities.
We rebel primal ways,
expanding facets of creativity

To push forth,
To push off,
To find yourself somewhere in between.

Sunken in the sidewalk’s crevasse.
***** and beautiful, the lotus blooms in harmony

We’re here waiting;
seeking.

Trying to balance this chaos we’ve created.

Calming minds and steadying tides,
the ocean pulls by Luna’s force.

The subtle aspect,
when we have no control.

The moon rises.
Bending blood;
bending minds, bending emotions.

All subjected to planetary reactions
and protractions.
Measured by our willingness to flow.

Desperately trying to find solace.

We cave.
We faulter, and give in to the moonlight.


Taking in all it has to offer
and becoming reborn within the sun.

A new birth in the light.
Refreshed and retrieved,
we emerge from our reckless physicality
and burst through in spirit.

Gods.
Beings.
Light bodies.
Humans.
Tangible, broken and beautiful.

They say distance makes the heart grow fonder
I say that’s *******
Distance makes the heart suffer
Distance took my heart and plucked its petals
one
by
one

It holds me tight
Too tight, until my breath gets short and my legs go numb
Distance built a nest in my mind out of fragmented memories
I will never let go of
Memories that are now so distant I can no longer cherish their brilliance
or remember their fragrance

This distance is a cry that cannot be silenced
It is the side of the bed where you should be lying
It is the dial tone when you hang up the phone
It is the dreaded groan of waking up alone
Distance is disappointment
The hollow echo of loneliness
My vacant arms
Distance is sorrow

We have no choice but to be bold

Distance is the strength found where hope was lost
Distance decorates the wings of the butterflies that
f l u t t e r
in my stomach when the distance disappears
As the miles between us fall apart, distance falls quiet
A moment of reunion
A moment outside of time
Building bravery in our cores
Steadying us for battle once more
Mounting our horses, drawing our swords
We are bold.

Distance keeps our memories close to home
It is the struggle that taught us how to be brave when we are alone
Distance is the challenge
To determine how much we can handle
Distance pushes our love to its limit
Distance is brilliance in the tragedy of our goodbyes

Trusting steady for flower petals floating on moonlit beams.
Fractured cracks running into sewn seams of honey-colored threads.

Layering sunlight of emotions,
Rip-tide oceans hold your boulder heart open.
Velvety warm blankets shimmering with lavender energy,
Of a silence unspoken.

A roar within of a constant fiery flame.
A warrior armored with stars and an army of willowy trees.

Song buds upon lip, striking a symphonic flowery melody.
Eyes sparkling, you captivate with an alluring smile.

Flowers intertwined within your raven locks.
Summer night of fireflies and dancing bees,
Forgiveness never a weakling of knees.

Soft spoken heart beats.
Sun-fire but shaded with purpling blues.
Steadying hands even though your lips may frown.

Ever present is the sleepy shadow of a sugared temptation,
That only the befallen will know.
A darkness muddled into the after-hours of dawn.
Self-pity wars that your feet danced into nothing, no more.
You let the colors become vibrant yellows, even greens.

A warrior surrounded by atmospheres of light,
Tinged with the milky blue hue of night.
Oceans come and gone but forever in your heart is song.

Thence we went on to the Aeoli island where lives ****** son of
Hippotas, dear to the immortal gods. It is an island that floats (as
it were) upon the sea, iron bound with a wall that girds it. Now,
****** has six daughters and six ***** sons, so he made the sons marry
the daughters, and they all live with their dear father and mother,
feasting and enjoying every conceivable kind of luxury. All day long
the atmosphere of the house is loaded with the savour of roasting
meats till it groans again, yard and all; but by night they sleep on
their well-made bedsteads, each with his own wife between the
blankets. These were the people among whom we had now come.
  “****** entertained me for a whole month asking me questions all the
time about Troy, the Argive fleet, and the return of the Achaeans. I
told him exactly how everything had happened, and when I said I must
go, and asked him to further me on my way, he made no sort of
difficulty, but set about doing so at once. Moreover, he flayed me a
prime ox-hide to hold the ways of the roaring winds, which he shut
up in the hide as in a sack—for Jove had made him captain over the
winds, and he could stir or still each one of them according to his
own pleasure. He put the sack in the ship and bound the mouth so
tightly with a silver thread that not even a breath of a side-wind
could blow from any quarter. The West wind which was fair for us did
he alone let blow as it chose; but it all came to nothing, for we were
lost through our own folly.
  “Nine days and nine nights did we sail, and on the tenth day our
native land showed on the horizon. We got so close in that we could
see the stubble fires burning, and I, being then dead beat, fell
into a light sleep, for I had never let the rudder out of my own
hands, that we might get home the faster. On this the men fell to
talking among themselves, and said I was bringing back gold and silver
in the sack that ****** had given me. ‘Bless my heart,’ would one turn
to his neighbour, saying, ‘how this man gets honoured and makes
friends to whatever city or country he may go. See what fine prizes he
is taking home from Troy, while we, who have travelled just as far
as he has, come back with hands as empty as we set out with—and now
****** has given him ever so much more. Quick—let us see what it
all is, and how much gold and silver there is in the sack he gave
him.’
  “Thus they talked and evil counsels prevailed. They loosed the sack,
whereupon the wind flew howling forth and raised a storm that
carried us weeping out to sea and away from our own country. Then I
awoke, and knew not whether to throw myself into the sea or to live on
and make the best of it; but I bore it, covered myself up, and lay
down in the ship, while the men lamented bitterly as the fierce
winds bore our fleet back to the Aeolian island.
  “When we reached it we went ashore to take in water, and dined
hard by the ships. Immediately after dinner I took a herald and one of
my men and went straight to the house of ******, where I found him
feasting with his wife and family; so we sat down as suppliants on the
threshold. They were astounded when they saw us and said, ‘Ulysses,
what brings you here? What god has been ill-treating you? We took
great pains to further you on your way home to Ithaca, or wherever
it was that you wanted to go to.’
  “Thus did they speak, but I answered sorrowfully, ‘My men have
undone me; they, and cruel sleep, have ruined me. My friends, mend
me this mischief, for you can if you will.’
  “I spoke as movingly as I could, but they said nothing, till their
father answered, ‘Vilest of mankind, get you gone at once out of the
island; him whom heaven hates will I in no wise help. Be off, for
you come here as one abhorred of heaven. “And with these words he sent
me sorrowing from his door.
  “Thence we sailed sadly on till the men were worn out with long
and fruitless rowing, for there was no longer any wind to help them.
Six days, night and day did we toil, and on the seventh day we reached
the rocky stronghold of Lamus—Telepylus, the city of the
Laestrygonians, where the shepherd who is driving in his sheep and
goats [to be milked] salutes him who is driving out his flock [to
feed] and this last answers the salute. In that country a man who
could do without sleep might earn double wages, one as a herdsman of
cattle, and another as a shepherd, for they work much the same by
night as they do by day.
  “When we reached the harbour we found it land-locked under steep
cliffs, with a narrow entrance between two headlands. My captains took
all their ships inside, and made them fast close to one another, for
there was never so much as a breath of wind inside, but it was
always dead calm. I kept my own ship outside, and moored it to a
rock at the very end of the point; then I climbed a high rock to
reconnoitre, but could see no sign neither of man nor cattle, only
some smoke rising from the ground. So I sent two of my company with an
attendant to find out what sort of people the inhabitants were.
  “The men when they got on shore followed a level road by which the
people draw their firewood from the mountains into the town, till
presently they met a young woman who had come outside to fetch
water, and who was daughter to a Laestrygonian named Antiphates. She
was going to the fountain Artacia from which the people bring in their
water, and when my men had come close up to her, they asked her who
the king of that country might be, and over what kind of people he
ruled; so she directed them to her father’s house, but when they got
there they found his wife to be a giantess as huge as a mountain,
and they were horrified at the sight of her.
  “She at once called her husband Antiphates from the place of
assembly, and forthwith he set about killing my men. He snatched up
one of them, and began to make his dinner off him then and there,
whereon the other two ran back to the ships as fast as ever they
could. But Antiphates raised a hue and cry after them, and thousands
of sturdy Laestrygonians sprang up from every quarter—ogres, not men.
They threw vast rocks at us from the cliffs as though they had been
mere stones, and I heard the horrid sound of the ships crunching up
against one another, and the death cries of my men, as the
Laestrygonians speared them like fishes and took them home to eat
them. While they were thus killing my men within the harbour I drew my
sword, cut the cable of my own ship, and told my men to row with alf
their might if they too would not fare like the rest; so they laid out
for their lives, and we were thankful enough when we got into open
water out of reach of the rocks they hurled at us. As for the others
there was not one of them left.
  “Thence we sailed sadly on, glad to have escaped death, though we
had lost our comrades, and came to the Aeaean island, where Circe
lives a great and cunning goddess who is own sister to the magician
Aeetes—for they are both children of the sun by Perse, who is
daughter to Oceanus. We brought our ship into a safe harbour without a
word, for some god guided us thither, and having landed we there for
two days and two nights, worn out in body and mind. When the morning
of the third day came I took my spear and my sword, and went away from
the ship to reconnoitre, and see if I could discover signs of human
handiwork, or hear the sound of voices. Climbing to the top of a
high look-out I espied the smoke of Circe’s house rising upwards
amid a dense forest of trees, and when I saw this I doubted whether,
having seen the smoke, I would not go on at once and find out more,
but in the end I deemed it best to go back to the ship, give the men
their dinners, and send some of them instead of going myself.
  “When I had nearly got back to the ship some god took pity upon my
solitude, and sent a fine antlered stag right into the middle of my
path. He was coming down his pasture in the forest to drink of the
river, for the heat of the sun drove him, and as he passed I struck
him in the middle of the back; the bronze point of the spear went
clean through him, and he lay groaning in the dust until the life went
out of him. Then I set my foot upon him, drew my spear from the wound,
and laid it down; I also gathered rough grass and rushes and twisted
them into a fathom or so of good stout rope, with which I bound the
four feet of the noble creature together; having so done I hung him
round my neck and walked back to the ship leaning upon my spear, for
the stag was much too big for me to be able to carry him on my
shoulder, steadying him with one hand. As I threw him down in front of
the ship, I called the men and spoke cheeringly man by man to each
of them. ‘Look here my friends,’ said I, ‘we are not going to die so
much before our time after all, and at any rate we will not starve
so long as we have got something to eat and drink on board.’ On this
they uncovered their heads upon the sea shore and admired the stag,
for he was indeed a splendid fellow. Then, when they had feasted their
eyes upon him sufficiently, they washed their hands and began to
cook him for dinner.
  “Thus through the livelong day to the going down of the sun we
stayed there eating and drinking our fill, but when the sun went
down and it came on dark, we camped upon the sea shore. When the child
of morning, fingered Dawn, appeared, I called a council and said,
‘My friends, we are in very great difficulties; listen therefore to
me. We have no idea where the sun either sets or rises, so that we
do not even know East from West. I see no way out of it; nevertheless,
we must try and find one. We are certainly on an island, for I went as
high as I could this morning, and saw the sea reaching all round it to
the horizon; it lies low, but towards the middle I saw smoke rising
from out of a thick forest of trees.’
  “Their hearts sank as they heard me, for they remembered how they
had been treated by the Laestrygonian Antiphates, and by the savage
ogre Polyphemus. They wept bitterly in their dismay, but there was
nothing to be got by crying, so I divided them into two companies
and set a captain over each; I gave one company to Eurylochus, while I
took command of the other myself. Then we cast lots in a helmet, and
the lot fell upon Eurylochus; so he set out with his twenty-two men,
and they wept, as also did we who were left behind.
  “When they reached Circe’s house they found it built of cut
stones, on a site that could be seen from far, in the middle of the
forest. There were wild mountain wolves and lions prowling all round
it—poor bewitched creatures whom she had tamed by her enchantments
and drugged into subjection. They did not attack my men, but wagged
their great tails, fawned upon them, and rubbed their noses lovingly
against them. As hounds crowd round their master when they see him
coming from dinner—for they know he will bring them something—even
so did these wolves and lions with their great claws fawn upon my men,
but the men were terribly frightened at seeing such strange creatures.
Presently they reached the gates of the goddess’s house, and as they
stood there they could hear Circe within, singing most beautifully
as she worked at her loom, making a web so fine, so soft, and of
such dazzling colours as no one but a goddess could weave. On this
Polites, whom I valued and trusted more than any other of my men,
said, ‘There is some one inside working at a loom and singing most
beautifully; the whole place resounds with it, let us call her and see
whether she is woman or goddess.’
  “They called her and she came down, unfastened the door, and bade
them enter. They, thinking no evil, followed her, all except
Eurylochus, who suspected mischief and stayed outside. When she had
got them into her house, she set them upon benches and seats and mixed
them a mess with cheese, honey, meal, and Pramnian but she drugged
it with wicked poisons to make them forget their homes, and when
they had drunk she turned them into pigs by a stroke of her wand,
and shut them up in her pigsties. They were like pigs-head, hair,
and all, and they grunted just as pigs do; but their senses were the
same as before, and they remembered everything.
  “Thus then were they shut up squealing, and Circe threw them some
acorns and beech masts such as pigs eat, but Eurylochus hurried back
to tell me about the sad fate of our comrades. He was so overcome with
dismay that though he tried to speak he could find no words to do
so; his eyes filled with tears and he could only sob and sigh, till at
last we forced his story out of him, and he told us what had
happened to the others.
  “‘We went,’ said he, as you told us, through the forest, and in
the middle of it there was a fine house built with cut stones in a
place that could be seen from far. There we found a woman, or else she
was a goddess, working at her loom and singing sweetly; so the men
shouted to her and called her, whereon she at once came down, opened
the door, and invited us in. The others did not suspect any mischief
so they followed her into the house, but I stayed where I was, for I
thought there might be some treachery. From that moment I saw them
no more, for not one of them ever came out, though I sat a long time
watching for them.’
  “Then I took my sword of bronze and slung it over my shoulders; I
also took my bow, and told Eurylochus to come back with me and show me
the way. But he laid hold of me with both his hands and spoke
piteously, saying, ‘Sir, do not force me to go with you, but let me
stay here, for I know you will not bring one of them back with you,
nor even return alive yourself; let us rather see if we cannot
escape at any rate with the few that are left us, for we may still
save our lives.’
  “‘Stay where you are, then, ‘answered I, ‘eating and drinking at the
ship, but I must go, for I am most urgently bound to do so.’
  “With this I left the ship and went up inland. When I got through
the charmed grove, and was near the great house of the enchantress
Circe, I met Mercury with his golden wand, disguised as a young man in
the hey-day of his youth and beauty with the down just coming upon his
face. He came up to me and took my hand within his own, saying, ‘My
poor unhappy man, whither are you going over this mountain top,
alone and without knowing the way? Your men are shut up in Circe’s
pigsties, like so many wild boars in their lairs. You surely do not
fancy that you can set them free? I can tell you that you will never
get back and will have to stay there with the rest of them. But
never mind, I will protect you and get you out of your difficulty.
Take this herb, which is one of great virtue, and keep it about you
when you go to Circe’s house, it will be a talisman to you against
every kind of mischief.
  “‘And I will tell you of all the wicked witchcraft that Circe will
try to practise upon you. She will mix a mess for you to drink, and
she will drug the meal with which she makes it, but she will not be
able to charm you, for the virtue of the herb that I shall give you
will prevent her spells from working. I will tell you all about it.
When Circe strikes you with her wand, draw your sword and spring
upon her as though you were goings to **** her. She will then be
frightened and will desire you to go to bed with her; on this you must
not point blank refuse her, for you want her to set your companions
free, and to take good care also of yourself, but you make her swear
solemnly by all the blessed that she will plot no further mischief
against you, or else when she has got you naked she will unman you and
make you fit for nothing.’
  “As he spoke he pulled the herb out of the ground an showed me
what it was like. The root was black, while the flower was as white as
milk; the gods call it Moly, and mortal men cannot uproot it, but
the gods can do whatever they like.
  “Then Mercury went back to high Olympus passing over the wooded
island; but I fared onward to the house of Circe, and my heart was
clouded with care as I walked along. When I got to the gates I stood
there and called the goddess, and as soon as she hear

The sun hit my closed eyelids
As I clenched my hands,
Steadying myself for the first, but
Not the last blow to my abdomen; Inside
Myself, the internal organs, felt rattled like someone
Had put both their hands on both sides
Of a chicken coop and shook
The poor things to Hell. There wasn't
Any medical personnel on duty - the fight was
A bare-knuckle - but I knew the barmen
Had every kind of liquor for any kind of cuts
I soon would be acquiring. I took one to the stomach,
Then my upper arm and I brought my right forearm
Up to protect my face. His fist connected with
My forearm, but I didn't feel anything and slapped his palm
Away with my open right hand and swung with my left, the top
Three knuckles connecting with his jaw, the pinky knuckle not connecting with anything.
I later found out I had broken George's jaw with that punch. He
Staggered back and shook his head roughly after the blow, perhaps being to blame
For part of the break he later would find out he had acquired. His eyes
Looked at me filled with sweat and blood shot. His lips were strangely dry. The
Sun on my back shone into his face and reflected the hundreds of droplets of sweat
Lined across his dirt covered brow and deeply lined face.

When he came at me again he was blind. I ducked, let him run through me
And quickly turned around. George was confused and I was not and all
Of a sudden I felt I was fighting a helpless child for some meager money that
Would only come half my way. I looked at him, up and down, saw poor George
Disorientated, scared, and alone; he reminded me of a fawn I had seen without his mother
Caught in between the cross-hairs of my rifle, its solid black eyes and quivering
Nose and ears looking for any sign of security of comfort, but receiving nothing. I pulled
The trigger on that fawn and, being a slave to my own routine, I pulled the trigger on
George, landing a right hook to his ribs, bringing him down to both of his knees, and then,
Interlacing my fingers and palms together, bringing down "The Hammer" as the men
Would later call it, across of George's head that drooped off his shoulder's like an
Apple just about to fall from the tree. He hit the dirt face first with the booming cheer
Of the ruckus cloud behind.

"Is it over then?" I asked him.

"I think you killed him!" a faceless joker screamed from the crowd.

"Yeah, you slaughtered him Ernie! Yah' killed him!" another one screamed.

Maybe I did, maybe I didn't, all I knew was that George wasn't going to be getting up by himself.
I bent down and put the back of my brown bloodied palm up to his mouth. There was a breath. At least there was that. I was happy that there was that. If he was dead we'd have to get rid of the body, either in the swamp which was a good half hour car ride and being a Saturday, the streets were crawling with cops. The first thought that actually came into my mind when I saw Georgie hit the ground and thinking that he was dead that we would take him down to the river, tie some rocks to his feet, and throw him in there. A cowardice thing to do, but ****** was something that tagged a man for a life and I couldn't imagine myself going back to prison for the second time - nearly died the last time I was in there.

"Get up George," I said as I pushed him lightly by the shoulder.

He gurgled and spit and tried to get something out.

"What?"

"Fuckinn neally kilt me there Ernie," he struggled to get out.

"I'm sorry, George, but we were fighting, weren't we?"

"Fukkinn basterd," he grumbled and tried to get himself up. He slowly rose to his knees and swatted at me when I tried to help him. He spit a large string of thick, dark blood into the dirt and coughed. He shook his head like an old dog that had just taken a beating and said, "Really lait in to me, din' you' Ernie?"

"Needed the money George," I said, he now letting me help him to his feet, "You know how it is."

"I know, I know." He slumped his head and threw his arm around my shoulders.

Without you I often feel
Like a child who has lost her parents in a department store
And turns round and round
Waiting to be rediscovered and led back home.
It is a childlike feeling
In that it is so pure and intense
That it overwhelms everything else.
It's consuming,
This...lost, echoing sort of feeling,
This space inside me that calls
For you to be next to me and heal me.
It's the simple, gripping yearning
Of the child inside my heart
For connection
For tenderness
For contact-
To reach out and find purchase with my fingers
In the warmth of someone else's skin,
Someone I love,
Someone I trust.
Someone I miss,
Even when they are close.

Without you I often feel
Like a balloon that has been cut from its string
And left to wander through the stratosphere,
A lone black dot wavering above the treetops.
I have no control over where I am taken,
No way to reach out to where I've come from and say
"Wait, I want to go back."
I am adrift, in the most terrifying sense,
Emotionally floating through the emptiness of air,
Above all else but utterly alone.

I fear being away from you,
Is the truth,
Is the constant struggle.
I fear the mornings when your arms are not around my waist
And your breath isn't on my collarbone.
I fear the days when my hand isn't clasped in yours,
Tattooed in golden brown henna and entwined,
Fragile but steadying,
Like the rope that holds a ship fast and safe from the greedy fingers of the sea.
I fear the evenings when you aren't curled up beside me,
Your smooth voice telling me stories and ideas.
I fear the nights when I cannot look at your sleeping face
And feel the heartbreak cry out in my chest
Of loving every curve of it
In the halflight shadows
And seeing your skin glow gold
Against the velvet darkness.
I fear every second that you are not near me,
And that is why I feel so oddly lonely
In any tiny breath of a moment
That I am unoccupied.

Without you,
I'm not even entirely sure I exist.
Not properly,
Not like one should exist.
I think perhaps I pale a little,
Like a negative photograph,
Perhaps my edges become a little hazy
And the world bleeds into me and takes my light,
And my skin becomes a little transparent
So that if I stand before a streetlight in the rain
You can see the wet road through my back.
I think a little bit of my color drains,
And I become drab as a silverscreen movie,
Only projected upon the world and not
Really there.

No way of approaching how I feel without you
Can explain it fully,
And little flashes of what I mean dart across my vision like meteors.
I can try to equate it with something relatable,
Something tangible,
But the truth is that missing you transcends the words I've got to explain it.

I feel like a child, crying because she has realized what the word "alone" means.
I feel like a ship, cut adrift and floating through a mirror sky of sea
With no land in sight.
I feel like a worn out film reel
Ghost of an image hollographed against the world.
I feel like I've lost something
I couldn't live without.
My lungs, perhaps.
Maybe an artery,
Or the bones in my legs.
It feels wrong, to be without you.
And yet,
I am.
Without you,
I am...
Something.
But I'm not even sure I care to know
What.

A SEAHORSE QUESTIONING

( for Onelia )

The cellist's hand
waits outside time

pauses
beside his instrument

like an exotic fish

steadying itself
in the flow of the music

before dashing out
from behind a glowing coral

eagerly snapping up
the little notes that swim by

at his head
his cello bobs

like a seahorse
questioning

all that is
happening

as he tries to enter
the same stream

(despite Heraclitus's advice)  

.. twice.

Your first ****
is very important.

If you don't get that first **** out of your ***
and mess up the good routine you've got going
then you're headed for trouble:

wake up.
scratch *****.
feel *****.
feel ****.
smack stomach(listen for the sound of new fat deposits)
burp.
wheez.
get up.
go to bathroom.
look in mirror.
hate self for not exercising.
brush teeth.
begin formulating exercise plan.
****.
feel 10 pounds lighter and label self
idiot
for talking about diet in the first place.

If the **** is not taken
between brushing your teeth
and breakfast,
your whole morning
is ******.

This is how it goes
without the ****.
First:
you forget to put on enough deodorant.
no biggie.
but you sweat a lot.
that extra cake-clod of speedstick actually does help.

Second:
on the way out the door
you forget your ipad.
no biggie.
except it had those quarterly numbers
for your sector's growth on it.

Colon gurgles
as you jingle the keys
down the stairs.

Third:
You forget your wallet
on the counter
in the kitchen.

Your ipad's still on the bedside table.

Colon gurgles.

You run back up the stairs,
grab the wallet,
give your apartment the quick once-over,
steadying on that $300 couch you bought in college
thinking you have everything.

Now you're going to be
five minutes late.

Should've taken the ****,
but you don't realize that now.

Fourth:
You get to work
five minutes late.
Everyone's in the meeting room
already,
nobody says anything
but mustache-face
aka
El Jefe
gives you the look.

El Jefe asks for your quarterly numbers
as soon as you settle into your seat.

Colon whistles.

"Was there any sizable growth,
do you think there are areas
we could devote more time and energy
too, in favor of others?"

You don't have your ipad
in your computer bag
with all those numbers on it.

People have been getting laid off lately.
"It's just the economy."

But really
"it's who doesn't **** up."

Colon screams.

This is how your morning got ****** up:

Usually when you take your ****,
you go back to sink in front of the mirror
to wash your hands.

After hands are washed and dried,
you go under the sink
and pull out the speedstick.

You put on a healthy dose.

Not only because you sweat
a lot,
but because you think the ****-smell
will follow you like a pervert.

After the speedstick,
you usually go into the bedroom,
because while in the mirror;
staring at the excess fat;
thinking about how good you look,
lighter;
the thought pops in your head,
"don't forget the ipad."

You don't know where it comes from,
but it comes.

Since you take the ipad to work
everyday
you count on having this thought
everyday.

You look on the bedside table
and there it is.

Quiet, black and glassy on its surface.
So placid like a lake contained within
the reaches of a pool.

No monsters.
No forgetfulness.
Just routine.

You should've taken the ****.

Wave after wave we rode the highs,
Steadying our footing before the next rise,
It all crashes into laughter and the salty foam,
Time flew by as the clouds framed the setting sun,
Lighting our path as the time came to head back home.

I lived in the fleeting moments loving the rush of being alive,
Forgetting about the dark night that lay over the horizon,
As we crossed the threshold back into our abode,
The interlude ended as the last light receded from the windows,
Leaving me in unattended in the murk of my thoughts.

Unequipped for the blackness that glared at me,
I searched for a glimmer of a forgotten dream,
There was once a fire that shone bright my hopes & ambitions,
Not even embers remain that I may stoke a new flame,
Aimlessly I move through the motions of the daily mundane.

Slowly collapsing under the unbearable weight,
Wishing that I could find meaning in life,
Or give up altogether and end it tonight,
"Why am I even here?" Echoes back at me from the dark,
I fear there is nothing else left for me here.

Under a smokey sky
her kind air, and steady gaze
put a firm hand on my chest
and pushed

just hard enough to take my breath away

I am standing here still
at some distance, steadying myself, mindful
that my next step in any direction, will determine
how we walk forward
mother and daughter

Like an ee poem
where nothing-but-yourself blazes
and a single word can command a whole line, limitless
she is demanding space
to fill up as she pleases

I will step back
as she moves forward
tease us apart carefully, and wait, circling
the slippery outer edge
of infinity

Hypnosis*
     Comatose so close to death
   Another dose of coldness swept away all my regret
Some die by the sword of vengeance, others by respect
                I myself will die calm and ready, **steadying my breath

we waltzed
into the bridge of
a ballad melody
slowly crippling upon our feet
steadying everything
to ensure the one whose falling is
nothing close to the heart

the melody
dawned us into
a trick of pain we need to evade
to ensure that neither you
nor i got the scratches
from the shooting arrows of the Amor's

before the cacophony blaze came
deafening the ground
we swore to never cross the swollen hope
and bring ourselves to another fallout
even with the closeness just
an inch of breathing the air
of a faintest droplet of eternity

and again
we need to ensure
not to let the feelings infiltrate our waltzing ground
not to let other sound come ruining the walls
which we have construct for too many years—
to be called for another destruction

What am I between these driving
delusions of all my anxieties, aside?
When every moment is a revolt against
suicide and my steadying decline
and my internal monologue dissolved
into reminding myself why.
Who am I but ceaselessly unsure
of the lens of my own myopic, miserable mind?
Between the shadows stirring
in the corners of these drying eyes
and the alarming cry for predators nearby,
these countless confines multiplying wildly.
How often I find I am fighting my brain every second, all the time
my own excessive efforts led awry
as my uncertainties undermine.
But now all I know is I am finally
freeing myself from being so spine numbingly paralyzed
now that I've realized I lie
underneath somewhere within
the way of still waking up
from this frozen comatose demise.

i.
You’ve struggled and grappled and fought, but it all seems for nothing, because here you are, locked in your bathroom, falling to spectacular pieces.

Your heart is a bullet flying out of your chest and your face has never been so bleak, so blank, and your shampoo bottle has been upended, oozing everywhere, and you should really start cleaning it up, but you can’t. You can’t put out another fire, mend another broken thing. Your machinery has come to an end. You’ve run out of fuel, and, to be frank, you have been running on empty for far longer than you should.

This is the result.

You: Alone.
You: Kneecaps hitting ceramic tile.
You: Leaning over that porcelain rim, steadying yourself, readying yourself.
You: Pawing crazily through the mess in your drawers, looking for something sharp.
You: Pushing your hair out of your face, fingers all clenched but the index, which is extended, trembling toward your open mouth.
You: Sliding the plastic sheath from a razor.
You: Lurching forward as bile floods your throat.
You: Pressing metal into your skin, and deeper, and deeper, and—

(Nobody tells you what it will feel like when you reach the point of no return.)

ii.
Sickness likes to romanticize destruction, especially that of the self-inflicted sort. It’s a nauseating satisfaction, a bizarre high. Your clouded perception goes along with this fairytale, believing in the power of the blade, the food you expel, the food you don’t let yourself eat, the isolation.

Sickness convinces you that this and only this will make you right again. It eats you out and leaves you hemorrhaging, and when you gather enough strength to feebly resurrect yourself, the cycle repeats and you go under, victim to a poison as grotesque and unending as Dante’s Seven Circles of Hell.

You do try, at least at first, to stay normal. You cast about for a distraction, and maybe you find one. Maybe it’s that rocket-hearted boy, or anything fatty and sweet, or the internet and all these strangers you pour your secrets into, or the contents of your father’s liquor cabinet, but there’s always something, isn’t there?

Funny how inevitably it leaves a sour aftertaste. Funny how inevitably you fall, sinking like a bird with an arrow struck through it, lost.

iii.
You once learned about creation.

How all matter exploded into existence in a single bang, how the solar system burned to life, how planets formed from colliding asteroids, how every creature that has ever been since is made with dust left over from the formation of galaxies, how you and I are the flesh and heartbeat echo of the universe.

You once wore daisy chains and called yourself extraordinary.

Now you call yourself a waste of ******* oxygen and forget, dear human, that you are a meaningful part of this totality.

Consider this when despair comes for you. Grit your teeth and hold onto something and remember, remember, that you did not always feel this way. Call to mind the image of your little kid self, your missing teeth self, your loud laughter self, because if you take that piece of sharp metal and puncture your skin, if you ***** your breakfast, you are going to annihilate her.

If you keep choosing this, you’re going to be bleeding out on the floor someday when your mother walks in and sees you and cries out.
“What have you done to my little girl?” she’s going to ask, hysterical, reaching for you.

And you’ll look at her, eyes snapping and full of something frenzied and disastrous, and say, “I killed her,” and the whole world will wonder why they didn’t recognize the signs sooner.

Is this what you want?

iv.
There’s a little poem I keep close to my soul, which says, “You must set out to save the only life you can save,” meaning your own.

Meaning you have to stop this. Meaning put down your weapon. Meaning breathe.



v.**
Nobody tells you what it feels like to face yourself post-battle. There’s not a great deal of advice on how to be an elegant example of life after, so you feel very much on your own here. It’s hard to go on after talking yourself down from so many roofs. Everything is struck with a certain silence, and you realize this tumor was filling so many hollow places in you that you don’t quite know what to do with the emptiness yet.

Be patient. One day, this blank space will be bursting with flowers and firelight and a rising, beating love.

You cannot give up. Not yet.

A gentle hand, with reassurances
steadying the heart under a barrage
of threats, of anger
my shield against the world's waves of insatiable hate
His love
and constant kindness
deflected barbs of my fury
the icy indifference I affected after every argument

The world is full of fathers
who don't know how to love
I'm one of the lucky daughters, with sunlight
in his gaze
Pride, delight in me
and in each of my siblings.

Every time I whisper, "Dad, I miss you"
I am telling him
I learned from you, how to love
to stand my ground
that family must always come first
You taught me
laughter
joy in the simplest of things
to forgive flaws in others
and how to forgive and give of myself.

I watch for you
And keep an eye on
The horizon
I cannot help but
See the sunrise
And it's orange edge light
Hugs my curves like
You would
Warms and burns like
You would
Smoldering then steadying like a match
Igniting memories of
Sleepy passenger seats
In an old black jeep that
Tasted of fish and old stories that
You told me
Of the late night in between in
A skinny dorm bed and the
Delirium of love and fatigue
Folding our eyes closed and our hands together beneath the pillows
And collecting on us like a heavy snow
The scent of old tobacco, skin, gatorade,
And dryer sheet that
Rests on you like
My sleepy hand
Rising and falling with your breathing
And then my florida dawn
After new world night and
A heart full to bursting
Watching big fish gather around lighted docks
And talking of things in
Beach towels on a bridge
Leaning
Looking over
The edge
I watch for you
With my eye on the horizon
And I know you in the
Break of day
I carry your gold dawn and it
Tempers the steel beneath
I watch for you
My love
Until you're home

It's 7:14 am
And I love you

Anny Horowitz doesn’t run down
the shopping aisles
as your grandchildren do,
she holds the trolley,

steadying it with her hand,
your ghostly friend,
your little Jew.
None sees her form,

her bright blue eyes,
her blonde hair
tied with ribbon,
her rosy complexion.

She ghostly moves,
amazed by the Aladdin’s cave
of goods upon the shelves,
the packets and boxes,

the loud advertisements
hanging from the air
here and there,
everywhere you

and she stare.
Neither Strasbourg
nor Bordeaux
nor Tours

nor Auschwitz
was like this,
no overpowering display
of commodities on show

of this she tells you
and to a degree you know,
and what was on show
at Auschwitz is still there

in memories or records
or photographs
with staring faces
and deep set eyes.  

Anny waits and watches
as the conveyor belt
moves the goods
to the woman

at the till
who pushes buttons
or scans bar codes
and pushes by

to the paid for end
and your son
and grandchildren
pack all away.

Anny gazes on the process,
then at you, smiles,
your little friend,
your ghostly Jew.

Tell me where I can go, he said,
just get me out of here.
Give me truth in every form, he said,
be the answer to my prayers.
Listen to this man, she said,
his poison words will taste so sweet to you.
I'm not going anywhere,
anyway.

Hero's the wrong word,
but it calms his mind.
It's what's steadying his hand.
A rationale so absurd,
he'll take what he can get to silence the voices in his head.

Give me something to believe in,
cuz I don't believe in me.
Give me something to hold on to,
and I'll cling tenaciously.
Listen to these men, she said,
their words of death will seem so wise to you.
I was never taught to care anyway.

Hero's the wrong word,
but it calms his mind.
It's what pacifies the guilt.
A rationale so absurd,
he'll take what he can get to silence the voices and he says,

I'd buy anything so I don't have to grow up poor.
I'll go anywhere for you, I'll walk through any open door.
I'd do anything to feel a part of something more.
I'll **** anyone you say to feel fear nevermore.

Hate is a strong word,
but to him it comes as easily as fear.
And fear pervades his soul. He's so far gone.

a memory wrapped its cold, rough hands
around my throat, squeezing it tightly.
as I tried to walk away, the memory
stuck its foot out, blocking my path.
I could only muster a pitiful squeak
as I fell face first onto the ground,
and the memory fell on top of me,
effectively holding my body hostage.
its hands were still on my throat,
but it was invisible to everyone else.
they only saw me fall to the ground.
they asked me what was wrong,
but I did not have air that could
breathe life into the powerful words
that were begging to leave my mind.
a sheet of paper suddenly appeared
underneath my right palm,
and a pencil rolled my way.
I gripped the sturdy pencil with
every ounce of strength I still had,
steadying the paper with my wrist,
and I wrote the words I couldn't say
so they would stop begging to leave,
even as the memory gripped my throat.
as I kept writing, I noticed the memory
stopped feeling as heavy on my body.
it was getting ****** into the paper.
it resisted at first, but after a while,
the memory slowly let go of me
and relaxed into the pencil marks.
when I had no more words left,
I picked myself up off the ground,
placed the pencil above my ear,
took the paper, hugged it to my chest,
and walked away with a smile on my face.

you don't notice the pitying looks until it's 9 in the morning and you're halfway done with your third cup of gas station coffee
you barely even notice it then

so you're dragging your feet across the pavement, eyes mostly shut, carrying a briefcase in your left hand and a scalding cup of caffeine powder + water in your right
it's not that you're tired
you manage to get a good four hours most nights
it's that you cannot focus
everything around you is more than a little blurry
red edges on your vision and shadows somehow pixelated

you're stumbling across the street when you realize that somewhere along the way
you managed to finish that third cup
and your hand is uselessly gripping empty air
it falls to your side
and it takes a few steadying breaths to deal with the headrush that always accompanies such a revelation

you have an agreement
but you don't know who with
it's someone you met years ago
in a hospital
eyes bright and idealistic

you don't remember the agreement either
but it was something important
and you remember that

that's what matters, isn't it?

You are solid ground
When it feels like I'm falling.
I want to be your parachute
To give you a safe space to land.
You are steady and safe
In a world shaken and turbulent.
I want to hold space for your feelings
When everything is too much.
You are a soft, warm hug
In the coldest night air.
I want to walk with you through the darkness,
Supportive and steadying.
You are truly a gift and
A love I cherish deeply.
I want to feel your soul dance with mine
But I know they already do.
I love you sweet baby
And one day I'll kiss you too

You attract...
Silly little girl giggles with admiration and the "oh you're so funnies".
I can't be a silly whip of half meaning amusement.
I'm not that girl.
I can't be...

You don't want admiration.
No, you do want it but you don't need it.
You need someone who will look at you when she laughs and means it.
You need someone who's going to sit down across from you on some chaotic night,
A night where nothing about the day made sense
And you're still swirling in a fog of your own perspective.
That's when you'll need this woman.

A conversation that clambers up slow,
Like steadying yourself after a carnival ride.
You'll trigger a vulnerable ***** by a wayward comment.
That's when it will happen.
Blindsided be ruthless honesty.
A sharp cut through the bravado *******...

She'll take that loop and jump in head first,
Feet landing solid on your insecurities.
One by one all of the hidden thoughts about yourself will come to life.
Every one of your self loathing fears and regretted actions.
All the ever present flaws you hold in your hands will be taken and laid out...

One uncomfortable, excruciating reminder at a time.
Every quirk you hate,
Every past stumble into a wall,
Every stitch in the side of your pride will be brought to light.

Presented back to you through new eyes.
Picking and dissecting and analyzing,
Whatever it was or is,
That makes the ground you walk upon gravel filled.
All your shame and remorse could be embellished;
Projector like against the writing on the walls.
Things you wish to hide or fix would be emblazoned like a gaudy pin on your shirt.

Your inner mind dwellings, torn down to petty pieces at your feet.
All of this would be blown back into the mask you try to wear that's a size to big.
Once the pulling and scrapping of every bit of shadow feelings and impressions you have been harboring deep inside are collected...
Covering the table,
Strewn in no particular order.

This woman will pick it all up in a sweeping display.
Fluttering around in waves of bouncy escape.
She'll gather every last part and fold her hands.
Then slide them into her pockets that have remained unfilled on purpose.
That's where, the last however many hours, will stay.
Budded up tight and inside somewhere safe for you .

You'll look at the empty table.
Maybe with uplifted eyes.
You'll look back at the cause of this character dismembering.
And see that her eyes have never wavered.

I hope when you get that moment...
That moment that you can just sense is a profound thing.
I hope you feel real acceptance,
Real faith,
Real love.



*© NDHK

The loneliness set in
When I couldn't fall asleep
I had grown accustomed to
Steadying my mind
With thoughts of you

I laid awake
wandering my conscious
Dragging myself away from you
No, not dragging, walking

Away from something
I once needed
But can no longer stand
No longer rest my head on
When the loneliness sets in

the first time we make love



your body will tremble, from behind, my arms’ will, to encase,
I, sponging up every tremor, shush-stealing each shuddering,
the outpouring of sounds will grow softly and steadying,
as gasps slow lessened, till the breathing is regularized.

you will sly ask for words, but I will come prepared and you,
will laugh when so informed, happy by my thoughtfulness,
wondering if they are being reused, and knowing this, I will
coax you to feed me morsels will I shall then embellish, proofs.

there is a first time in almost every aspect, but for one, which
you won’t refuse, forgiving my experiences, a history to become
now partly yours, the priors paying forward my debt to serve,
a gentling interplay of eyelashes *******, fingertip confessions.

you will alternate tween fragility, regretful solitude, emptied but
then refilled, you’ll want to define, identify, label for storage and
reuse, classification for acceptance, thinking that will make this
moment lasting, but it won’t, but it will, last, under closed eyes.

when the need to sob returns, one or two may escape, unelicited,
but won’t go past that, you’ll hear me saying “Hello in there, hello,”^
and ten thousand skin cells will in unison firm gel a single sensory,
not a trick or strategy, an honor bestowed, medaled, molten medaled.

that you were held captive, it will be a proud mark, for freedom only
comes from being released, and an anthem will start to form, words
all raw and wholly yours, then you will sing to me “good bye stranger,”^^ granting me a pardon, for being who I am, a wonderingly, somewhat familiar face...

She, good signor, whom in stormy sea
With thee faithfully and firmly stood--
Steadying the family boat with fasting
And prayer whilst thou hard wert  rowing
Against tempest--should nay in peace
And prosperity be by thy head misunderstood
Nor for another girl be in thine eyes contemned,
Lest by heaven thy new blessing is ******.

the ocean is unforgiving.
it ebbs and flows and drowns.
you are perched there on your sailboat;
you have thought this out.
at your feet is my body, alive but immobile, bound by ropes you twisted yourself using my vocal cords and your shoelaces.
the makeshift ropes secure the rocks you've tied to me,
made of quartz and the unchanging fact that I always come back.
it's almost time.
I look at you with fear and desperation, and you look back for just a moment.
your face is a board hammered down to your skull. you feel nothing.
you pick me up, not looking at me.
steadying yourself near the edge of the sailboat,
leaning your shin against the wall of the sailboat,
you throw me
in.
the water hits me in stages, the cold slicing my shoulder.
the last breath is a hardship,
but a necessity.
bubbles spore from my nose in the water, ascending in schools
but I am only a dropout.
I plunge downward.
the light is running away from me
I would catch up, but i'm not in shape.
this was your plan.
you sail back to shore;
a storm is starting to brew upstairs.
you will not give it a second thought --
I have enough second thoughts to supply an army that you command.
can you use second thoughts as gunpowder?
as a mask?
as an escape?
I will never find out.

A SEAHORSE QUESTIONING

( for Onelia)

The cellist's hand
waits outside the music

pauses
beside his instrument

like an exotic fish

steadying itself
in the flow of the music

before dashing out
from behind a glowing coral

eagerly snapping up
the little notes that swim by.

At Nazzareno's head
his cello bobs

like a seahorse
questioning

all that is
happening

as he tries to enter
the same stream

(despite Heraclitus's advice)


~ ~ ~ t/w/i/c/e/.

And forgive me for staring but I've never seen/eyes like yours, take my breath, and I guess what I mean is/I'd follow you down into hell and back home if you'd let me.
If you'd let me I'd give you the rain, and that moment at night when the sun has just set, and the stars/and I'd give you my heart and the air in my lungs and I'd walk out to meet you/it's never too far if I hear your voice at the end.
If you'd let me.
If you'd let me I'd draw you a city and when it was done it would rise off the page, and surround you/and I'd bring you flowers at 4 in the morning/because I can't sleep when I know you're upset...
And I know that I'm young/and I know that you're busy/I know that I'm not what you planned and it doesn't make sense/but the problem is when I'm around you my heart is a tympany drum and my mind is a mess/and the only thing in this whole world that I want is to see/you/smile.
So if you'd let me I'd like to be someone who stays up till 5:15 in the blue morning and watches the sunrise with you from a rooftop/and looks at you like you're a dream.
And I love when you stutter and trip like a brook on your words, little pebbles that tumble out jumbled/I love how you laugh and the way the world fades when you look in my eyes and take/my breath/away.
I'd like to be someone whose voice makes you smile, whose bad jokes cheer you up on your cloudiest days/whose eyes in the dark tell you "You're the whole world, and there's nothing so wonderful as your next phrase."
I love that you hug me for longer than I have expected whenever you leave me behind/and I love that sad moment when I linger watching you go cause I can't walk away when I know you're still there...
And I love all your scars and the way you've endured and I want to be all that you're missing.
And if you'd let me I'd love you through all of your faults and your petty mistakes and your failings/and I'd be the steadying arms every bad day and the voice that cuts through your self doubt to say you are amazing/and I'd be a love of your life because I'd be so sure that you'd always be just what I wanted/and I'd bring you flowers at 4 in the morning/because I can't sleep when I love you so much...
If you'll let me I'll be your adoring companion/here, quiet and sure that you're brighter than all of the stars/if you let me I'll love you with all of the parts of me I have held back and I'll give you the world/and the only thing in this whole life that I'll want is to see/you/smile...
If you'll let me.