reaching the back of you

not sure I could.      not sure i would.
       scent of the crime uncommitted uncovered

the meandering is the man demigod demagogue taking
time
         pleasured mercy
                                         the remaindered searchingly
                                                                ­                                 suffices

you don’t speak plain english the only tongue i got
insert the coin in your slot commencing researching the
way in and
don’t think i want to find the way out to the
back of you hiding in the inside learning the way you visualize


playing amy winehouse as an overlaying graph to the autoroute
to the south of france, sur-la-mer, why ever leave and you come
in my mouth poems new each time

no exit. no back of you.  stuck in a longingly heaven

this house is my home and I know the sun brightest
when i put my coin in the slot of play and press the
new tune button at 4:10AM

It’s 6:15pm. Peter, Anna, Sophy and I are studying in the common room of our suite.

“We need to get serious,” Peter whispered, but there was no subject in the declaration, so I was left confused and uncommitted, “about getting serious,” he clarified.

“I’m not sure I can get serious about a guy who doesn’t separate whites and darks in the laundry,” I say, gently.

“No,” he said, shaking his head in brief vibration, “we need to get serious about DINNER.”

“Oh!” I said, maybe a little too relieved.

“Ha!” He chortled, “YOU overthink everything!” He said, nodding his head up and down to prove it was true. “And speaking of laundry,” he continued, seeing me start to open my mouth, “the other night YOU asked me if your pastel purple ******* should go with the whites or darks - so I must be an EXPERT!”

I laughed at the idea of his laundry expertise, sailing in from out of the purple like that, it was haywire. “Well,” I said, becoming introspective, “I didn’t know you’d hold onto that question like a grudge,” I said, in quiet, wounded accusation, “from now ON, maybe you should stay as far away from my ******* as possible.”

“What are you two grousing about NOW?” Anna asked, looking up from her computer. “You guys are like an old married couple.”

“True THAT.” Sophie said, like a judge right before knocking her gavel to finalize a ruling.

“We weren’t arguing!” I said, looking around confusedly. I looked at Peter, who was smiling broadly, “Were we?”

“Nope,” he said, wrapping his arm around me in a bearhug, “we were flirting.”

for Angelique, who found it (at) last,
and who, loved it best
--------------------------------------------


first, I read,
thus educated,
became addicted to
the musicality of word~notes,
enamored with
the artistry of
singing language,
the power to
lift, imagine,
evoke, touch
your skin,
so far away, yet
mine thru smoke,
scribed, now
mine to stroke.

explore, uncover,
the secret interiors of
what was placed
inside of
each of us,
at inception,
without exception.

the keys,
the word picks to
unlock the freedom
to be fearful,
yet courageous.

we, start, all of us,
at the same
starting line,
we, all feel
we, all believe in
the primacy,
the rightness of
I.

but then, one must
began to
observe others.
crossed over the boundary
of mine own
preemptive prepositions,
superseded the need to be
superman,
saw different truths
in the eyes
of others.

listened to the soul songs
of the R&B; breezes of
scented strange,
coming to open
ears, nostrils,
eager to learn how
wind chimes sound in
Nepal, Berlin and the Florida Keys.

standing up, stopped lying,
both up and down,
committed to be
uncommitted to the unjust
accursed ego,
rejected the sophistry of
solipsism.

then changed directions.

went back inside
to relish the passion of
pleasure of both
affection and hatred,
receptors on wavelengths
that varied, in sine,
in in side in in the
co of mr. me.

that the only way out,
to responsively accept,
that to close
the distances within,
to realize real synapses
of words,
there was only
the pathway of
the existence of
outward bound.

kindness, warmth
and generosity,
or
cruelty, inhumanity,
utmost selfishness.

needed to choose.

made my-choices.

thus provisioned and endowed,
voyaged to a place
where there was
no cover, no excuses,
only mirrors that exposed
what lay neath every artifice
conjured up by man to
mislead, deceive, and obfuscate.

There, this place,
where I was
neither the smartest,
bravest, saddest, or wisest,
I sat down and said,
said out loud
words directed to
give yourself away,
myself and anyone
who cared to listen:

”my tongue and my eyes are
one and the same,
my fingertips and my voice,
interchangeable,
my combination of words,
special even if not original,
they are as original to me
as the first prior writer and
the next,
who will create them
anew one more tme,
after he, like me,
leaned to
write them effortlessly,
and to
give yourself away...”


with out fear,
I selected a single word,
a solitary glance,
saw the poetry of an
open window's enchantment,
a head lifted momentarily
from a pillow,
then struggled mightily,  
wept for days with no
verbiage to effect,
make visions entrancing,
no skills,
butterfly net
to capture
the magic of
your loving
my signs.

disgusted by mine,
mine mediocrity,
with the greatest
of effort,
mine,
yet, yielded no results

except scraps of phrases,
that I retrieved
from crumpled sheets
that decorated the
wasteland of my first efforts.

took those phrases,
ran them over my tongue,
over and over again,
intrigued by
their lily lilt,
their unity,
the sensuous pleasure they gave.

how one word
coupled a tune,
the notes of this
new contiguous,
contagious alphabet
rang truer than most,
and moreover,
led me to another that
somehow phrased forward,
sallied forth in rhyme,
like those wind chimes,
now making perfect sense
with the one that followed,
from varied places
so distanced, but now one,
and a couplet was born.

of what did I write?
of what I knew.

no complexity,
nor trickery employed,

no matter that plain words
are my ordinary tools,
with them I scribed
the small,
the little,
what I saw.

grabbed the middle,
held onto the
gravity of the center.

simplicity my golden rule.
write they say,
about what you know best.

rely on and in the
diurnal motions,
the arc of
daily commotions,
in which
do we not all excel?

this poem flew
off my fingers,
twenty, thirty,
maybe sixty minutes,
in the skies above
these United States
of mine,
on American Airlines.

one of my
chiefest blessings
that luck threw onto
my punched ticket,
being born here.

was it effortless?

If you sat beside me,
what would u have seen?

flying fingers urgent unbidden,
neither struggling nor stopping
for the chimes were mine,
once I heard the first verse.
but first ringing was give
unto me by a reimer,
asking how,
I write so effortlessly?

the question innocuous sorta and
sorta knot,
a challenge to
my poetic essence.

I looked inward,
to look outward,
started where
all poems start,
in the quiet places
where you and
I think and thought.

unsure of the answer,
began to begin,
sing and sin,
my fingers,
simple secretaries,
transcribing lyrics
that those
selfsame wind chimes
tuned me up,
turned me on
simple thoughts,
simpler truths
herein recorded and
sworn before you,
most writ on this day that
the Americas have chosen
to recall another kind of
explorer, Columbus.

explore, explore
and then again
explore s'mores.
no matter if it is
covered ground,
covered it once more,
till you see that land
differently, colored so
no one has ever seen
them quite your way.

be an ocean pacific,
that cannot be pacified.

relish the chance,
relieve yourself
of that urge to burst,
put on paper,
gift to me and to
everyone else,
so someday,
we can say
together,
we saw *together,
through one
single set of eyes
upon a ship of
foolish words,
a real child born
in a mind!

new places re-discovered,
yet now storied stored,
living in our
Siamese chests,
to forever keep.

PostScript:

"With or without you,
I can't live,
And you give yourself away,
And you give yourself away....
Only to be with you,
But I still haven't found
what I'm looking for..."
U2.

Longing through lonesome days,
supplicating the sun to set.
I anxiously await your arrival,
should consciousness concede to what I covet.

Only in fanciful fantasies,
in the delight of darkness,
and in our notoriously nocturnal nature,
have I ever happened upon happiness.

Give me the gift of your grace,
the spell of your sweet surrender,
and the temporarity of tonight
will flourish into forever.

In the day I may wistfully wander
halfheartedly and uncommitted,
but in dreams I know not the words
lonely or unrequited.

Words found in the wind supreme telling boisterous antagonistic they form in the great ocean they
Come they challenge everything and much is changed the sea cleanses land and its tenuous hold
Everything fair and precious must find a harbor a defiant manner to endure broken trees exemplify the
Hardy the uncompromising bend you must if broken it only gives up the dead and weak branches if up
Rooted it only shows the growth of deception that presented itself as truth all trivia superficial living will
Be reveled in the wind that which is rock solid and is built on a solid foundation will only flourish the
Storm is its bestowing gift these matters deeply rotted in the emotional center of the heart heeds the
Elemental force brought to bear by the wind it stands and shows its power that is not fake or foreign
But has a lasting place that grows because it is pure and is undaunted by assailing contradictions its
Value claims a root system born of time and reason compromise and injustice has never been found in
The hidden places of the heart there is no hidden agenda friend or foe is welcome to look and see to a
Friend it speaks of deep comfort knowing that all is open and it will stand any test and afford great help
In time of trouble the enemy will find a formidable foe not all enemies are without worth in the struggle
You can acquire skill and knowledge that will give you resources that will guide you to hidden veins of
Gold that can be found in no other way a rich life compared to one of poverty is to be much desired in
The lax uncommitted world of anything goes but that is about to change our enemies have found the
Formula that no one can win against its deadly poison the nation so grandly founded will turn on its own  
People to try to survive it will survive but a different streamlined and hardened one we believe it will be
An Outcome of good as weakness and folly are thrown off and the core values in much smaller form will
Continue sadness will pervade our world because of lost glory and our guilt that brought the big
Upheaval that reduced the heritage our children should have inherited this started with the sea wind so
I will insert this earlier piece and then continue
Sea Thoughts
Oh stand thy great waters contained in thee is mirth and terror some you have beguiled and then
Have taken them to your depths of destruction but by your benevolence the sea breeze blows
Inland from this moisture rain is called from its dwelling place the earth is refreshed the tides
Have cosmic ties by gravity the lone solitary moon is entreated and responds one speaks if only
There was a love potion that I could give my beloved so she would respond to me favorably it
Can never be created it already exists go out into the mysterious night stand under a great tree its
Dark silhouette will be more bewitching than the days shade speak your heart as you do take her
Hand and stroll out into the moon beams that drew magic from the great waters as it passed over
Does not wonder advance in this light softer exquisite the hardness of life bows and retreats to
Wait the daylight hours where harshness has its intrepid way so it leaves you with the volumes’
Darkness of night every person desires excursions into intrigue shadows will touch your faces
As tender as the willow then the soft glare of the moons love the mind and heart as its signature
Equation that old crazy moon has moves that are centuries old that birth love every time romance
And her broadest throne follow and are attended by moon light to develop a relationship
Correctly don’t go to the artificial neon lights that are futile and tinged with wickedness but
Sea side strolls are the ultimate inducement a pure stimulus that thwarts the too often knotted
World that keeps everyone at odds with one another everyone knows a great deal of love and
Romance when they are younger to revisit those cherished memorable times that started your
Life of promise with your beloved is invaluable mature love needs to feel the saturation of sea
Breezes the moons ghostly sights will fill in deep shadows where hurts have collected they need
To be free so they can go back to the darkness that gave them life your lives shouldn’t be defined
by them But the deep calleth to the deep set sail for Trafalgar not to war with enemy ships but to
sign With tender’s hand a peace accord to stitch the soft fabric of love that life’s mean elements
can rend in this you will find the sea’s glory and the moons positive glow has become a true part
of your life it is time the spring of renewal is in the offing and it sways to love’s song this speaks
Of man and women’s love this speaks of God’s love they saw the works of the LORD, his wonderful deeds in the deep.
____________
Sing to the LORD a new song, his praise from the ends of the earth, you who go down to the sea, and all that is in it, you islands, and all who live in them
I inserted this because the piece was running hard and it’s not my purpose to be negative or black
With troubling thoughts but at the sea you will find tumult and danger and at this time it echoes
Financial woes that are buffeting are precious nation there will be a resolution but not a pretty
One there are laws mathematic ones that you dare not trifle with but we have people who
Arrogantly hold office and think they can do as they please and all will magically fall into place
Because they wish it to be so it has never been true since earth began and will be no different
Now all will suffer as the same as the guilty but in extreme hope and faith possibly those seeds
Of greatness that was our true heritage will weather the storm and will re surface with pure
Power and grace that will create within each of us the true an unending love of country that will
Give us an arching back to the hearts and minds of our forefathers we will bestow a new
Beginning that Lincoln spoke of in the Gettysburg address after strife and winds that carry
Destruction there will be a new tomorrow from children who owns up to the mistakes and turns
Back to the true paths that will always assure glory and victory too many generations just like
before

"Action speaks louder than voice" ,
only works in uncommitted relationships.

You are not his only choice,
but always steals a kiss.
He reaches for your hand to hold,
but you're not sure if it's just for tease.

Waits for you 'till your shift's off,
other times it's your hair already turning grey.
He drives you home,
then drives another the next day.

Then he suddenly distanced himself,
saying he have other plans.
You swallowed your pride and plead,
asked him for a second chance.

He had a firm no,
but with a vague reason.
With a broken heart, you know what to do,
and that is to accept and move on.

You're in the middle of the process,
and yet he interrupts.
He does what he does best,
and is again closing the gaps.

You're in a tight spot,
but you should know better.
Listen to us with no buts,
we don't want you to be hurt again by that heart-breaker.

What have we told you,
about what we felt about that person?
Someone who purposely do,
leave holes for his victims to fall.

So guard your heart more,
do not let just anyone to penetrate through.
You should lock the door,
give the only key to someone who is true.

And the next time you take the free fall again,
we'll just always be here as your friend.
And if you ask us out to dinner to tell your pain,
we'll just remind you then and there..

"Action speaks louder than voice." ,
only works in uncommitted relationships.

The mind is frequently violated by unauthorised thoughts. Bad thoughts are played as nice ones by the mind. When wicked things are done, the mind dresses itself in a pious robe. The uncommitted mind is never caught.

Single life is sweet
And a lover’s life is a dream
But then there is that
                 Space in between
That doesn’t seem real
At all.
It’s the fall
From cloud nine

To the loneliest limbo.

It’s watching sparkling sugar coated single earthlings
Below show off their uncommitted free spirited
Confectioner outfitted
Figures and naked fingers
Bubblegum ******* blazers
And frosted fickle flaked fedoras
Suiting each been-there-done-that suitor
In runway Yong Wild and
Free

And then you see
Above
Airy fairy angels in love
Wearing pale peachy perfection
And creamy chiffon
Adorned in pearly promises
Baby’s breath and fresh roses
French kisses and rubbing noses
And of course
The stupid
Valentine’s Day cards.

But you are far
Away from either world
You are a girl
In silent confinement
Trapped
On Cloud Five nothingness
Like a time bomb
A volatile child
Ready to explode
At any moment
So kept
In icy isolation
So that no one
Could hear the cries
Of your eruption.

In these last moments that I breathe,
tell me why you made this plea?

That my touch was a forced one,
when you knew it was consensual

Before I could blink,
the world had gone bizarre

they came, they beat me,
paraded me naked on the street

Do you think I deserved this?
A punishment for an uncommitted crime?

Don't forget that you have killed me
in an unfair public trial

I'm like Alice;
I fell & now I'm sitting
because I can't choose
between the "Drink me"
or the "Eat me."
"Go to sleep," you whisper,
I bite your hand, like a cat
with the arch of my back.
You're a short, stocky man,
barely to 21, already commanding
these things of me.
You spank me, "does that hurt?"
I'm indifferent.
You ****** inside of me,
"is that okay?"
I'm indifferent.

The story unravels, as my body
turns to sand paper.
I become so cold, I cannot sleep.
My words are rusted door hinges.
My skeleton, made up of bruised fruit;  
unwanted, and worthless, even
to the most empathetic,
or frugal of shoppers.
You send me ambiguous messages
as if the internet can even maintain
the most insignificant,
unreal relationship that my heart
tricks my mind into believing.

I don't change my sheets,
because I think they smell
of your expensive cologne
and drugstore deodorant.

I'm stuck with sheets
that smell of my sweat,
and of my sour dreams,
our uncommitted relationship,
and my mind completely
tearing at the seams.

I sit in a flimsy plastic chair that squeaks at the slightest movement,
Ana stands because it burns more calories and says I should do the same
My arms are folded over my chest, slouching and brooding
The bracelet Ana bought me sounds like shackles when I move
The wedding band on my finger weights more than I do
"Why are you here today?" Our therapist asks
"She's been cheating on me with that **** Mia!" Ana yells
"I already told you it didn't mean anything. We were broken up then."
My explanation makes her angrier though and she snaps,
"You just can't handle commitment!"
I've heard her use this voice multiple times and a list of all the insult circumnavigates my brain
Stupid
Ugly
Worthless
Never good enough
Unlovable
Pathetic
Fat
Fat
FAT
"You call this uncommitted?" I point to my stomach which growls on cue
Our therapist asks how long we've been together
I say over 2 years
Ana says we've been together my whole life
I tell him she's abusive
"It doesn't look like she's done that much damage" He notes
When the hours up Ana walks to the door
I tell her I just need a minute
I turn to our therapist who's already packing up
"Please help me. I need to get our of this relationship now!"
He ***** his head up as if it's the simplest answer in the world,
"Then why don't you just eat?"

Ridvan Dibra


Everyone forgot Sephorah, the Prophet’s wife.



The heavens are unfolding like pages of a book,
My Lord.

Pages worn from time
Yet I say they are more worn from their daily reading,
Some are creased and some are shredded
From bolts of lightning and our impatience.

Just as blind as we were in the beginning,
My Lord.

Not a single page did we know how to decipher,
Not a single line, not a single letter,
Simply because we searched upward and afar
When the alphabet was taught around us and everywhere.

Just as deaf as we were in the beginning,
My Lord.

We did not know how to hear your voice
Distracted by a thousand and one false voices,
When everything was so simple and light
It sufficed that we bow our heads and listen to our breathing.

Just as hungry as we were in the beginning,
My Lord.

Simply because we desired our neighbour’s vine
And never blessed our wild weeds
Neither the globe that we should not have bitten
In a rush like the unripe apple.

Just as alone as we were in the beginning,
My Lord.

Scattered about like grains of sand
From the wind that we blew with our cheeks,
Or rather like repentant orphans
Because they raised their hands and slew their parents.
Just as much in the dust as we were in the beginning,
My Lord.

On our lips, in our lungs there is dust
And when we think we are flying higher and higher
The dust pursues us simply because we are idle or forget
To cleanse ourselves before every departure.

Just as homeless as we were in the beginning,
My Lord.

Our huts collapse before being completed,
No thousand years could they suffer your anger,
Until, one after the other, we blame
The walls and the roof, and then the foundations.

Just as thirsty as we were in the beginning,
My Lord.

With our dried and withering lips blistered as in August
We desiccated the sources of life one by one,
Sought and then created
Endless springs of blood.  

Just as ignorant as we were in the beginning,
My Lord.

Simply because we took the second step before the third
And said the first word after the second,
Thus, even our knowledge is nothing
But a correction of errors once made.

You are still everywhere
And we are nowhere,
My Lord.

We disregarded all the reasons for blood,
We forgot even the screams of grieving folk,
We forgot that the wounds of our foes
Would one day hurt even more in our *******.

And they hurt in my breast,
My Lord.


THE FIRST PLAGUE: BLOOD


You shake more from the blood than from the shadows, Sephorah.
From the blood that has no name, that rises out of the fresh wound,
Blood that shines the same in all wounds,
Blood that never knew how to become water.

But the water becomes blood,
My Sephorah.

I only need to strike it with my snake-shaped staff,
That is, with my untamed will,
Bang-bang-bang,
Bang-bang,
Bang.

See how the rivers and all other waters have been bloodied,
The snow is melting and it drips blood
The sharp-pointed icicles are dripping blood,
Drip-drip-drip,
Drip-drip,
Drip.

Understand now the value of water
And let my purpose go
You blistered lips and you arid lands,
You thirsty ******* and you hungry fish,
You forgot that they fished me from the water with my name:

It was life at the beginning
Death followed in its footsteps.


THE SECOND PLAGUE: THE FROGS  


You shudder more from the swamp than from the blood, Sephorah,
The swamp called oblivion and lack of attention,
The sallow swamp that chokes the green,
As the moment strangles eternity.

The swamp that spawns monsters,
My Sephorah.

All sorts of reptiles, repulsive, slowly creeping,
All types of lilies, brightly coloured, but poisonous,
All kinds of breaths, all of them muddied,
And in the end, the emblematic frogs:

Lured by my snake-shaped staff,
That is, by my untamed will.

They approach and enter your home, Sephorah,
In the room where you sleep,
They creep into your bed.

They stain its white sheets
Disturb your tranquil sleep
With their salivating cries,
Croak-croak-croak,
Croak, croak,
Croak.

When the Gods fight with one another
Man must make peace with himself.

My Sephorah.


THE THIRD PLAGUE: THE MOSQUITOES


You recoil more from the cause than from the consequences, Sephorah,
The cause that is me or somebody else within me,
It happens rarely, very rarely to human beings,
And perhaps never to the daughters of Eve.

The swirls of dust have now become clouds of mosquitoes,
My Sephorah.

Over your face and over your tall body,
Over your lips and over your small *******,
Over your sleep and over your ****** dreams,
Over your silence and over your divine patience,
Over your tears and over your rare smile,
Over your motherhood and over your rare fruit,
Over your roots and over your green stem
Have remained the gray scars of bites,

My Sephorah.


THE FOURTH PLAGUE: THE FLIES


They are tiny and everywhere and drive you crazy, Sephorah,
Like grains of the pale sand falling through the fingers,
Or like words and daily routines
That we could do without.

This cloud of flies is the shroud,
My Sephorah.

Neither wound, nor bite, nor poison
On your marble-white body
Or all three at once, somewhere under your skin
Where feelings sting like an uncommitted sin
And where the start is projected as an expected end.  

Because death comes rarely
Without being invited in advance by us,

My Sephorah.


THE FIFTH PLAGUE: THE BEASTS


Once I spoke of you as I did of the beasts, Sephorah.
Finding in them everything that is yours
Or finding in you everything that is theirs, it’s the same thing.

I am talking about those times when you were called nature
Or when nature was a woman, it’s the same thing.

But the beasts all perished,
My Sephorah.

They perished in you, grievously, one by one
Died the grace of mares in the fields at sunset,
Died the sacrifice of camels in the fallow desert,
Died the naivety of the donkeys chewing on thorny bushes,
Died the kindness of the sheep and the fertility of the cow.

They were cut, one by one ,
And perhaps it was I who cut them, one by one,
The threads that tied you to nature,

My Sephorah.


THE SIXTH PLAGUE: THE DUST


The dust is like prejudice, Sephorah,
With your lungs you breathe it in,
It envelops you entirely
In a mantle that changes according to season.
It’s the sky that sifts furnace ashes,
My Sephorah.

On you and on every other breathing being around
Falls the gray sorrow that thereafter conceives
Autumn, eternally ailing,
From its inability to be another season,
More similar to human beings and their fate,
For fates under the dust all become the same,
Or so it may seem to the untrained eye
To the stare that only strokes the surface
Like the dust strokes your senses,

My Sephorah.


THE SEVENTH PLAGUE: THE HAIL


Intermediate things have always caused you to shake, Sephorah,
Hail, for example - neither a raindrop nor a snowflake,
Not even a raindrop and a snowflake together.  

You are alone between fire and ice,
My Sephorah.

They are not pearly garlands that hang in the heavens
But ropes with hailstone spines,
Enticed by my wooden staff
With the fiery snakes of lightning,
Scorching like blind passion.

The barley in the sheaves is scorched and withered
As is the flax which just bloomed,

But not the wheat that endures and is late to ripen
Nor your invincible core,

My Sephorah.  


THE EIGHTH PLAGUE: THE LOCUSTS


The healed wound brings forth another, Sephorah,
As desire brings forth desire and pain brings forth pain,
Until the moment when the soul becomes a soulless object
And the body a soul and a breath together

The dancers of death are approaching,
My Sephorah.

A wind from the east has borne them in throngs,
An army of hungry moments, never satiated,
A plague that gobbles up everything that remains
Especially young sprigs, as yet to grow shoots
And everything else that is green and that nourishes the hope
Sown in your soul
And in your warm body,
My Sephorah.


THE NINTH PLAGUE: THE DARKNESS


You dread more the darkness than the fire, Sephorah,
When shapes disappear and everything becomes the same,
The highest and the lowest, and the black and white

You dread the darkness that is touched by hands,
My Sephorah.

Then you have no other salvation but to turn towards yourself
As to a friend lost and found after many many years,
Because darkness is darkness, and dissipates not like the mist,
Because it hides the unknown and reveals the known.
Man does not see man, and touches him only
When avoidance becomes impossible.

The belated reward pains you
As it does me and my rediscovered self,

My Sephorah.


THE TENTH PLAGUE: DEATH


You’re disturbed more by death than by life, Sephorah,
That is, life near to me and my isolated people
With their eternal and false aspirations for salvation
In their arduous attempts to be understood.,

While the death itself flees from you,
My Sephorah!

On your wise brow as on the crossbeam of a heated house
I have left the telling sign of blood:
May death remember and seek another shelter,
For man can recognize only what he has created himself,
Whereas the beginning and the end are the creations of others,
Even though the elephants return to die in their birthplace.

“Who is not with me is against me”
Said even death to itself one day.

My Sephorah.


THE ELEVENTH PLAGUE: SEPHORAH


Stronger and safer than on my wooden will,
I rely on your silent sacrifice, Sephorah,
You, the most unhealed of all my wounds
That pains me most when the others are silent.

Long has been the road, Sephorah, far too long,
Full of turns and ambushes that delayed my purpose,
Even though I knew that only children expect instant victory
And that all the prophets of old were marching through me.

But long roads never end, Sephorah,
My staff and my faith were too small: only to the Lord does its own self suffice.
I needed more love than understanding,
And then you came, with your body enwrapped in spirit.

I loved only the purpose and thus the people did not love me, Sephorah,
Filled with poison, the cup in your fair hands
And yet, despair is a virtue and joy is a sin,
Whereas events live less than people.

When you teach someone, they pay you, Sephorah,
When you teach all, you must pay yourself.

It is both beautiful and hard to be the wife of a prophet,

My Sephorah.  


March, 2000


Translated from the Albanian by Shinasi Rama, Janice Mathie-Heck and Robert Elsie

oh, terrible person;
oh, woe is me, terrible
'person' for terrible acts
that were never committed
in the first place.

oh, second place,
welcome me. welcome
me? welcome 'person'
for uncommitted deeds
and false memories?
is it welcome? is it
welcome?

oh, honey. oh, darling.
oh, sweet sweet sinner
from catholic school
in the back seat of a fighter jet.
oh, military propaganda
for a life un-lived. oh,
song. oh, drown it out.
oh, performance.

oh, performance.

oh, beautiful girl.
oh, girl to be taken.
oh, girl to be used.
oh, girl, get used to it,
you'll be dealing with this
longer than it was dealt to you.
oh, girl, you'll be hurt
longer than the hurters. oh,
sweetheart, i forgive you because you
were young. but you are me,
so i also hate you.

oh, little one.
won't you grow up?
won't you be a failure
earlier than i was?
won't you give up
like i never did?
won't you hitch a breath
on a short prayer,
wish you never were
wish they never were
wish those things...

oh, those things.
wish they never were?

see, you're younger than me.
oh, you're so much younger than me.
wish they were never done;

see, twenty-three year olds
don't have fairy godmothers.
they have propranolol and therapists
and dialectical behaviour therapy forms
forgotten to be filled in.
oh, forgotten.
oh, stone slabs with no meaning.
oh, stonehenge.
oh, mythology.

be an anthropologist, my love.
curl up your grief
and your trauma
and work it into a pretty clay sculpture.
oh, sweetie, make it beautiful
please
make it beautiful. make it
loved, or just make it.
let it be finished
and loved
and long-lasting
and then die.

oh, and then die.

listen to music.
sink into music.
be music,
be beautiful,
be consumed.

you are what was done to you.
after all,
oh, after all,
you are what was done to you.

you are what was done?

you are done.

I'm a better person today than I was the day that I met you
Maybe not more pure or innocent or unbroken
But I've grown  
And I don't think I would've changed in the ways that I have if I had never met you

I'm sorry though
That you had to know me at such a time
That you suffered for my sake
For all the pain that I caused
I was selfish, immature, unready and uncommitted
I do have regrets, from my time with you  

But I can honestly say, that I wouldn't take a minute of it back
We made mistakes, that's for sure
But I learned an immeasurable amount
And for that, I thank you
I just hope that you can forgive me,
That I can forgive myself
So that these memories aren't bitter, that rememberane of you might taste a bit sweeter, and less like a stabbing ache in my heart.

I spend hours with a killer
Watching him claim murderers' blood
Avenging the light of day
Against the in-convictable life-takers

He studies the work of others
Under the guise of a friend
a mask, hollow, unfeeling
Lost and uncommitted
He simply wanders and avoids
Calculating.

But I am wasting away the hours
Half watching and learning
Enjoying.
Learning.

He travels his past,
I mine.
Drifting
While the rain calls me away,
Tap tap tapping
My memories call me away,
Calling and calling, pulling...

I am drifting
Rain and memories
Traveling through love and blood
I am drifting,

But not to sleep...

As I struggle restrained
by charcoaled fleece,
unvocalised and uninspired
another “baa” to add to the
manured gears at work,
plagiarized -
sunlight awakening
and moon-dust
dozing serene,
by a need for purchase -
an invasion of the minute
green-noted men,
outlining fortune tales
of a win every time
just pay the million deposit first,
success is guaranteed
just be lonesome.

Perhaps my insatiable curiosity
of fictional footsteps, lotions,
potions in various flavours
rows upon racks
of wondrous words
are leading me astray,
Vicarious witnesses might
consider me a dreamer
uncommitted to a prospect of wealth,
am I truly shuffling along
instead of chasing paper moths
straight into a debt induced flame?

Pretty girl.  Smart girl.
Lovely little collection of dirt-smudged
books with dog-eared corners, that girl.
Quilted comforter girl.
Non-drinking, church-going promiscuous girl.

Strange girl.  Senseless girl.
Dreaming, preening in the graying bathroom mirrors girl.
Taping pencil tips during testing kind of girl.
Uses skin when there’s no eraser kind of girl.
Smooth fingers rubbed to gunmetal kind of girl.

Smart girl.  College girl.
Uncommitted, TV-watching girl.
Reads the books before the movies type of girl.
Smoke-eyed girl.  Diamond-kind-of-like
without-the-shining girl.

Nimble fingered girl.
Pretty girl.  Promiscuous girl.
Lead-wedged-deep-in-the-head girl.
Nobody knows Jane Doe.
Orphan ***** Jane Doe.
Pavin’ her way Jane Doe, they say.
Doe-eyes tinted red
like crushed grapes in a wine glass.

Uncommitted as ever
Yet I convinced myself this is better
Better than the cold I feel
Inside my head nothing is real
Eaten alive by my own demons
Yet I still thrive for no reason
Given no proof that you'll stay
Settling with just pushing it all away
I've decided I won't care
I don't want to be made aware
So let me forget how to live
We both know I've got nothing to give
Everything's been taken from me
And I just don't want to be....

I'm committed to being uncommitted
Unfaithful and impulsive
I'm going  behind your back
because she lets me hit it that way
You wouldn't
You said
"I'm waiting but I want you"
So I took you
made you
broke you down to be like all the rest
just to take you off your horse
because riding me
made you walk around on our level
I though You'd stay here
live here
roll in the mud
actually let you body get *****
because we did
now look at You
so quick to saddle up
and look back down
at least I know
what you look like on top of me
but just so you know
you ride the horse better

Your insanity traps me
    surrounds me with heavy darkness and loneliness.
         I welcome death, but then again fear it
              I'm so alone when her mind is twisted
                  Her tongue rips through my heart
                       causing my soul to bleed.....

Yesterday I was young and alive
     today I am old and dying.

She rambles in the distant room
     locked in conflict with her thoughts
          My heart beats wildly contemplating a better life
              a life which at times seems would only be a reality through my death.

     Charging into the room she switches on the blinding light
           blasting me for something I committed in her twisted mind.
A something locked from my view, my reality, very much etched in her burning brain.

I confront her to no avail for my uncommitted sin
     she flees the tense room
ever more infuriated, for my unknown heartlessness.
    I don't pursue remaining to relish in my painful loneliness.

I wish to escape...
     I want to leave; but my heart won't let me go...
         I remember the you that left, full of life and love
              She's the one I can't let go
                    She's the one inside of you
                        crying for rescue
                            but too far to reach....

I'm too flaky
I'm too competitive
I'm too forgiving
I'm too self deprecating
I'm too bent in the past
And too focused on the future
I'm too uncommitted
I'm too scared, worried, nervous
I'm not worth your time
Not with so many "too's"

The simplest things in life
Are most always taken for granted,
Lies and desseat
Mourning and tears
You hate when its
All around you yet
You never notice when
Its all that’s in you.

When the sun dies
And clouds get grey
No one cares until
It rains.
Only then do they notice the pain
The pressure
Inside they hold.

A warm breeze through an open window
Turns the pages of an open book
Just to close it in the end.

So whats next?
In life, no one knows
Perhaps that’s why some choose to live it
While others choose to just
Take a hit.
Because
Heading for the unknown is interesting
Until of course
You realize you really have no clue.

A false pretence
A false knowledge
Isn’t enough when your falling
Farther than you’ve ever known.
Even still, pictures fade with memories
As you realize that the past
Is gone and the future
Is all you have to look forward to.
The disappointment
The uncommitted and overly committed
The dismal and vivid
Exuberant and dejected
But even more,
The unknown.

i said goodbye to the desert
spit out a few grains of rust and sand
as i sat in the back of my mother's grand marquis
i was bidding farewell to the long plaid skirt i wore to school every day
the school that was mercifully unmarred by bullets
the glitter on the popcorn ceiling of my grandparents' home
the smell of an overwhelming saturday evening
which stank of discarded waste and cigarettes
we were going somewhere special
goodbye nuevo laredo

eight years later
i said goodbye again
to a neat little home
nested tightly amongst the bricks of others
a hilly backyard
bluebonnets sashaying on the side of the highway
mexican restaurants every three blocks
that could never replicate what i once had
stars and stripes holding steady in the shade of a sycamore tree
a glittering city in the distance
i was in love
and i was going somewhere special

i was elated to escape
both of my previous lives
always finding myself awash with uncertainty
adrift as i committed and uncommitted to a series of distractions
from the beastly recesses of my pruned little brain
that snarled about hopelessness
abandonment
a lack of worth
and motivation
maybe i knew i was meant to run
since the moment of implantation

my new neighborhood is impeccably silent at night
no hollers to strain my ears for
no ominous pop-pop-pops
(was that a firework or could it be...)
no jovial music with thundering basses and large round drums
i eat pork drenched in teriyaki sauce
and drink green tea in the evenings
on the train, i gaze at the empty stares of other passengers
my gaze is also unreadable
i practice the strokes of a kanji
one, two, three...
my husband and i meander through temples
heavy and groaning with the weight of a thousand years
of life
benevolent buddhas and Cheshire-grinned demons
i can't help but think of the message of a western God
that my mother recited to me every night in the black of our room
sometimes i shuffle my feet in the square space of my living room
to the tune of cumbia

i used to think that i didn't have an identity
no confinement to a culture conceived by the likes of men
but i am what i am
and i never actually escaped

A heart beat, so soft and sweet.

The red rose grew, for thee eyes to seep through.

The love thy felt, no words could tell;

For underneath the disguise lies beauty that hides.


A gentle touch, deceives much,

For thee to speak, confusion emotions make thy weak.

Heart ache not for pain, but mystical devotions scream thy name.

Endeavoring to be stole thy strength,

Inquiring what is real, correlating to what is fake.

Feeling condemned in one’s life, scavenging for more time

No more time to think, for this thy see;

Thy judgment will soon be received.

Though vow I looked upon, I once held in my arms;

But now it devoured, clock ticks another hour.

Thy sin remained, pour down the rain.

I can’t recant what thy tongue divulges;

So forgive thee, seize thy all.

For thee don’t obtain much;

Thy apologetics are just simple words, a prayer.

Though thy not worthy I call upon,

One that makes thee forgives, forget

Even the little things that hold thy pain back.

Uncommitted to do what’s right, just what’s wrong to thee eye.

Thy depleted all I could, nothing left for thee;

So let thee be.

Here thy am crying,

Wondering why, when they only going to die.

Blue is the color of Sunday , reflection , invigoration , begat Red , color of Monday , impatient , feverish father of Tuesday , Gold , ambitious , attentive , mother of Wednesday , Green , whimsical , yet studious , sister to Thursday , Violet , passive , contemplative unlike brother Friday , Orange , boisterous , demanding cousin of Saturday , Yellow , uncommitted , and passionate ....

I envy those who have no love in their lives.
I want to be the one who has nothing to care for, or about.
I am jealous of those who have nothing to lose beyond themselves.
They have their share of sadness, to be sure.
But, those who hold nothing dear, either by fate or choice,
cannot know the terror that comes with loving something, someone else, truly.
The overwhelming realization that this person, or thing, you love so dearly will some day be taken from you, or you from it,
is tragic on a scale that is unimaginable,
but felt all the same.
No, give me the life of the uncommitted,
of the freedom to love nothing,
with the highs always being low
making the lows seem so much higher.
Give me mediocrity of unattachment
in lieu of the purest love that defines life and shakes it to its core.
The trepidation of the later being too beautiful to handle.

We all wanna be Free from pain & Free from hell
Free from the sadness & Free from that mental jail
Free from depression & Free from the Anger
Free from the fears & Free from self danger
Free from the one thing we run from the most
Free from self destruction & hurting those we love most
What’s the price from freedom? What are the steps to be taken?
How much can be build up before one begins to lose patience?
What’s the destination to freedom? Is it worth being free?
If the truth lies within existence, how long before they begin to see?
Free every Lost Soul from themselves & from the harm they’ve endured
Reveal the light & show them a new world that’s waiting to be explored
Do you wanna Free or forever exist within the pain that traps you?
Do you seek Happiness or forever remain with the hell you’re attached to?
Seek Freedom or remain a slave to what you’re afraid to depart from
Be Free from the chains on your life or continue to be controlled by the mind
Be Free or forever pay the price for the same uncommitted crime
Slaves to the mind, slaves to that addiction, & slaves to the pain
Suffering the most due to commitment & it’s ourselves that we blame
What’s Freedom? How long does it take one to find it?
Silence speaks very clear for the scars that rest behind it
Just wanna be Free, free from everything that you’ve been running from your whole life
And if Freedom is really what they make it out to be, is there a sacrifice?

We all wanna be Free from pain & Free from hell
Free from the sadness & Free from that mental jail
Free from depression & Free from the Anger
Free from the fears & Free from self danger
Free from the one thing we run from the most
Free from self destruction & hurting those we love most
What’s the price from freedom? What are the steps to be taken?
How much can be build up before one begins to lose patience?
What’s the destination to freedom? Is it worth being free?
If the truth lies within existence, how long before they begin to see?
Free every Lost Soul from themselves & from the harm they’ve endured
Reveal the light & show them a new world that’s waiting to be explored
Do you wanna Free or forever exist within the pain that traps you?
Do you seek Happiness or forever remain with the hell you’re attached to?
Seek Freedom or remain a slave to what you’re afraid to depart from
Be Free from the chains on your life or continue to be controlled by the mind
Be Free or forever pay the price for the same uncommitted crime
Slaves to the mind, slaves to that addiction, & slaves to the pain
Suffering the most due to commitment & it’s ourselves that we blame
What’s Freedom? How long does it take one to find it?
Silence speaks very clear for the scars that rest behind it
Just wanna be Free, free from everything that you’ve been running from your whole life
And if Freedom is really what they make it out to be, is there a sacrifice?

i'm strangely uncommitted
my voice is heard
by selective ears
any embrace i seek
must go through extensive
tests and research
i cannot give my heart
for it's under lock and key
and the key has long disappeared
i'm saddened by loneliness
a loneliness i've initiated
and the deadened feelings i've felt
offer me no comfort
this dire existence
leaves me incapable of love
but the yearning i feel
will never leave me.