A different view on the world
birds, a flock today so high up
how I wish I could just jump off the
ground and fly
in a strange formation, coming together
moving apart, not how they're supposed to be
they looked confused and sometimes there's clouds
Cold clouds, even rain, and I track the shapes and every
move that will reveal the sun and warm this place

When my mind is quieter from torment
When my inner world has "settled down," I will find you
who you are, where you are, I don't know
We won't meet on College Walk or in the library
It won't be so bright and innocent
but it will be a better match and knowing my past mistakes
we will find each other, not just kids anymore
but now fully formed, who we really are
and ready to match together

Lamentation of a slight Indian girl
wearing a perfect tiny Sari
as her grandmother insisted
she eat something, holding a morsel
partially unwrapped
I couldn't understand a word she said
But everything was clear
Anna Kee Do.  Over and over
As grandmother increased her sales pitch to the
point that I was ready to eat it
The girl would not budge
grandma turned to me and gave me a wry smile

Mind spinning, thoughts talking to me
like daggers
now I sit in a nook
at my favorite cafe
a quiet mind at last
I got here, found the self
I lost but was there all along
How I want to hold on

One of the beautiful animals
a vet in Haifa said to me
"I don't like cats!" says my Aunt at dinner
"The vet bills!" moans my mother
Cats haven't changed much since their inception
because they are already such a good design
They eat what is living at the time
as other species fade in and out
I love cats
Back at Thanksgiving it is loud and cold
and I am so tired so I get up and go downstairs for a nap
just like a cat

"The problem is that if you put a green
pepper in with a tomato, it turns brown."
Why not try an onion?
I ask myself as the conversation passes me
on the stairwell
Roommates wake each other up now
juicing
You can't argue with juicer that their new
obsession will not make them live to 120
or experience life on a knife's edge
Maybe our brains aren't that large, after all

"The population is expected to level off at around nine billion," says my father
A nearly full plate of Thanksgiving feast food in front of him
but he has been asked to pontificate which is what he does best
and I hear a tremor in his voice like I have when I teach
I know he is in the throws of excitement about what he's saying
planning for his keynote in Brazil, and what plant scientists can do
to help save us from global warming and the lack of water since there isn't
even two liters of fresh water for every person on the planet for use every day at seven billion
I gesture as to what two liters looks like  and my mother snaps "I know what two liters is!"

It's cold in here, in this large Oakland short sale house that fits my cousin's family
and my Aunt downstairs, where I like it better because the children aren't there
Like two houses put together and there are no carpets just hard wood floors and
open windows that make it cold and it is anything but warm and fuzzy
My Aunt is angry with me that I shop at Walmart but that's what I can afford
Tomorrow she's holding a strike at a Walmart with her daughter which makes them superior to me
She's also mad because I don't like my "Union" which does nothing for me since I'm not tenured
"You have to organize" she condescends, like that is a reasonable thing with my one and two year stints at schools but she is the big Union Head for CSU so she should know
She was on TV with Jerry Brown after all, so what do I know
The kids are noisy since they all have their own phone and can play anything they
want at any time in addition to turning on the myriad of TVs and radios and stereos in the house
and the noise ricochets off he hard cold floors and walls that have pictures on them
of people from the family, but they don't look quite like they belong
and they hang there uncomfortably and self consciously
There is every skin tone except deep black at the table
My family--all that is left

Childhood: I loved going to my mother's family in Idaho
It was hot in summer or cozy warm inside in winter and
a wonder land outside for snow shoeing and skiing
It was quiet and they always had wall to wall carpet
I rolled from one end of the room to another in it the first time I felt it
It was warm and fuzzy.  
People listened and there were breaks from noise and chaos

Here, every conversation is disjointed like we are going
in and out of different time periods and different petty rivalries and
fierce competitions under it all and families are blending and being
torn apart and the latest one has formed from "OK Cupid" online
and my Aunt has to be right, the smart one, the good one, the one of the people
and it is so cold, so very cold, and the windows are opened to let in more
cold Oakland air as if there isn't enough of it and all the sounds of
kids and electronics are driving me slowly insane

What can plant scientists do to help nine billion people
without water?  Not a whole lot, except invent crops that
survive like camels, or can live underwater like fish
since everything will be either dry or deluged with water
and I wish there was carpeting, warm carpeting and less
noise and more harmony
and this is the family I have now
the old one is gone, like the glaciers that will melt all at last
and the rivers that will run dry forever.
And I think: what we need to do is invent a way to make water
Make enough water for everyone, maybe from recycled bags or used Nike shoes
and if we can do that, maybe the air in this house will warm
and it will become quieter and the hard wood floors will become soft and warm and fuzzy
and I will feel at home here, with my family

When he's inside, you don't become one
You only like to kiss in the beginning
It's hard for your ******* to get enough attention
Not to mention the most important part
When you are really having fun
Your body is stiff and
you can squeeze him out
When it's over, you can't wash him off
He stays inside
and drips out
at inopportune moments

Why do I hesitate?
Prefer toys instead
They don't scare me
And I'm always satisfied
How many times did I settle for
only what the man
was willing to give
Frustration, dissapointment and silence
I need honesty now
Especially in bed

Anxious, fears flitting in and out, through my head and back again
feeling like I know what it is to stand for the verdict
to live the last few hours on Death Row
And it is only a job, a silly job, a source of income
but this feeling, the same as I had last year when I lost
part of what made the job interesting
but this feeling that I have that I am so often dead on correct about
an intuition that pierces me and sets me on edge
and so often comes true
Maybe I would give up this intelligence, this ability to foresee for a little peace of mind
But no, there can never be too much you know, too much you can see
the water can never be too clear, the view never too deep

Bright white plates are placed at the bottom of Lake Tahoe
to measure the clarity of the water
which is now murkier than in Mark Twain's day
so the plates must be put closer to the surface
and I don't want that
to lose that purity of sensitivity
I only want to be able to know and not fear
So keep the plates where they are
the water remains pure and it has to

You are going to fire me I am nearly sure
I don't deserve it, but I didn't deserve to lose what I lost last year
when I had the same feeling

1979, A live broadcast, my father bid me come
to our new color TV set, the high pitched whine
it gave off muted by meaning
"remember this moment" he said
and we watched, in awed silence as
two men, Anwar Sadat and Menachem Begin shook hands
and our President presided
a cold peace at last
In retaliation for... Sadat was later shot through
the skull and died on a stage in a pool of warm blood
surrounded by his brethren

A letter dated 1944
My father's fingers trembled with it in his hands
He brought it out to show me
"I am the only survivor...all the rest are gone...
I am going to Israel"
Written hastily with pen and ink, our last
surviving relative who we know not of
bid farewell to Russia and was on track to a new land from the wellspring
of grief and ******

A Jew, my father
A half Jew am I and would have been all the same
to the **** killing machine I thought one languishing summer day
as I ate unripe apples with small wormholes at a farm
full of horses
Safe in the quiet, if uncaring peace of a world far away
from dead Nazis and the abandoned killing centers


Rabin Square in Tel Aviv, 2003
We walked through at night, my husband and I
A large empty space in a city without largeness or emptiness
We walk without recognition
as it is now just a place and not only a shrine
But I linger to look at one corner
At an embedded sculpture of confused cement blocks
jagged angles and useless plains, rendered in immobile lasting cement
a testament to futility
It is pain, frustration and the sickness of human violence--
Itzak Rabin
who was shot and bled to death
in a crowd in the dust of his also unknown and forgotten ancestors
in retaliation for the hope of peace

News of more bombs today
Fresh death
Mangled human potential rendered useless
In retaliation for...

Three kitties
tabby and white, tri-color siblings from under a school portable
and their adopted father, hunched backed, grey and white, bowl legged:
circa 2000, the best from the Israeli streets
groom each other one tongue on each sleek fur covered skin
the rhythm of certain satisfaction rises
and it is the vibration of love

Why did he?
What did I do?
When did he start to change?
Why is this happening?
It's not the right question
There are things, people, not in our control
We are only ourselves, our fragile human form
When our thoughts are spurting forth, frothing over the mountain top
like a mountain river in spring
and invade every corner of our mind, filling it like a bubbling tide trapped in rocks,
then let the tide pull back into the Bay to reveal
what we know, what lies beneath, like tender sea anenomes,  in our certain hearts

And extreme desire
and he was calling my name
and it was so good
And I opened my eyes
and withstood
the fact that again I'm alone
and it's good
it's just fine
this private pleasure shrine

I feel quite content
This single life doesn't seem like cement
locking me in
what bothers me comes from the outside
It's economic and I'd surmise
If that were to end
I don't know if I'd love again
I see men passing
The flirt, the passion
you can catch it online
Will there ever be a time? To love again...

To watch the brute force
that takes the place of reason and communication
Wars have titles, but they are the worst things on Earth
How is it that violence comes to us over and over
like an alcoholic, thinks, this one last drink
then, I will never have another
This will be the war to end all war
some really thought it

I have lived in the Holy Land
I have felt the sun of history on my face
The sands that so many have sought out have been in my path
And with all that wisdom collected
through the human ages--isn't it there
in a place of such value?

I remember, an Israeli soldier or two
killed, bodies dragged around
brutal ugly deaths celebrated by the mob
and out of the sky came a power that
destroyed the building where the murders took place

And people celebrated, as if this
would end the bloodshed
This power, this explosion would
bring peace

Thousands of bombs later, gallons of blood spilled
even some I saw with my own eyes
body meat on the street and we still
don't know that the most powerful force
we have is our brains and the ability to communicate
and come to the table to talk and fight the battle as a debate
and search for answers in our voices
and why do we give up this power over and over
and return to brutality that is just a mobius strip to more?
If we are really so brave, why can't we come to the table
two opposing forces, and wage a battle of words
to work these things out
Why is this never the priority?

A respite
Brush the charred remains
off, clear the soot out from my eyes
to get a clear view
A vacation, one week to strengthen the knowing
side of me
How I feel lighter, knowing this will be a time free
of attacks

There is so much I don't know
Thinking I know, drives me in a circle of pain
One week, to build those internal muscles
so when the attack comes again
Perhaps, I will be stronger

that quiet time in my mind
when the fierce voices are silent
and my fear, slides back like a thin
tide receding into the bay

Social Darwinism
How we fight each other
in the marketplace of scarce resources
come scarcer
How I remember the claws of a rooster
flapping his wings
protecting his flock of unfed hens
so starving they'd eat their own eggs
His claws scratches my legs
The wings flapped and air
moved around him
like a small storm
I was so young

Today, working in a place
that's like a rock offshore where thousands have been
washed away, and drowned
and we are still there on those small slippery
places trying to do our jobs
and not get knocked off
by a passing wave
or a rude shove of desperation as someone falls

Invisible demons
Rumors and gossip drive this place
Men, not women, rule it
Impatient men who are scared for themselves
on the higher rocks
still feeling the spray
watching the struggling toil of those below
and turning inward to their own sadness and fear

All there is, the only safe place
can be inside
and yet for me it's not there either
An attack comes and part of me takes that side
A being eating itself, destroying itself
Thinking at the same time that this will solve the problem
If only enough flesh can be cut, if only enough suffering
can be wrought
I will be purged of these feelings

It was a stormy night.  
But our flag was still there
as the war drums beat
and the children came out
wearing plastic bags to protect
their instruments

Rain slanted in the Friday night lights
The fake grass field was slick like ice skating
Our National Anthem was dutifully sung
as we stood and worshiped our flag
and were reminded of the violence of our beginnings
and felt a surge of pride for the blood and death
spilled over two centuries ago
that has allowed this war in a small town
to occur on the territories once inhabited by
annihilated civilizations whose dead languages
haunt this place

The soldiers came out.
Young boys trying to look brave
When I watched my first war,
in my own small town
a boy was paralyzed from the neck down
and can today use one hand in a limited way

I am taking tickets and freezing
Getting a cold as surely as my body
feels as if it is freezing up
but there is no rain date this is too important
and the ambulance waits outside
Last week a boy's hand was crushed for this glory
into a little pieces
They have a new leader now and the show goes on
It is so important

It is our favorite sport
It is violent
It excites us, unites us
And when the other team scores I privately
cheer
So this can end
And wonder, what might be done
in the age of scarcity with the resources
that run this war
and how I wish, it wasn't so important to us

Who is she?
She's not from around here.
Suspicion surrounds me like fog.
These are tough times, she's from out of town.
A stranger.  Should she work here?
She grew up over an hours drive away.
And I've lived on the other side of the Earth and found comfort
in the company of others
and found that human throughline
written still in cultural, spacial, geographic differences
that sameness, those recurring human themes
Returning home, another town away
I am unknown
Can't you feel the lesson I've learned?
Can't you know what it's like to walk through
the streets of Tel Aviv
The back alleys of Paris
and see human struggles
playing themselves out before you?
And know them from deep inside
as the ones you felt on another continent?
She's not from around here
And I speak English
Don't you know what it's like a
bond in a crowded subway pushed up against
those who don't speak your language
swimming in a different culture every hour of the day
And I am a stranger here.

And I welcome it
How strange
A completely whacked out bad day
And I can't fight anymore
I am rolling in a truck
out of control
down a mountain
Might as well try to just go along for the ride

One of the world's worst opening lines, ever
Darkness, three or four of them crossing the street to me
My eyes down, trying to ignore
Figures looming, coming closer
My hometown downtown
This doesn't happen here
Wanna get with me?  Hey!
Other things: gross and ******
They're closer and he, who I don't look at
reaches out and tries to grab my thigh
Like he's tearing off a piece of bread

But I'm solid milk chocolate not fudge
His hand hits and grabs
It feels like a wrench as he grips
Digs for a hand hold,
But there is none, just bone and solid me

They walk past asking why I don't say hello
Yelling as I shut them out
And I remember when I was jumped
Carrying a pizza home in NYC at night
Pizza floated down in slow motion
steam in the air
A pile of eggplant and cheese
freezing in the winter cold
And the kid grabbed my jacket
held an exacto knife and demanded my wallet
As the rest stood around
like watching a demonstration
And I pulled free because a puffy jacket doesn't make a good hand hold
And ran away, kids do that, the guard at Barnard said

But this grip was different
Had it caught hold
Had they surrounded
I would have feared for my life

I walked away quickly, from them, from memory

It to be hot
That you'd find me just sublime
That I'd see you waiting for me
For just a glance or chance conversation
A little time in privatization

For you to notice I look nice
For every sighting to be  like spice
In my day
To have you in my way
would make me melt

I wanted you to seek me out
for a little private time no doubt
For you to forget everyone else
A huge smile at me
and I'd melt

But the lake just froze over
You run around like a busy mouse
Sniffing what's ahead, not looking about
Finished work, headed for your house
And for me, you could care less
And its making me a bit of a mess

I don't want to see what's yours staring at me
When I open my drawer
I am dismantling my life
I see the handwriting on the wall
You lied to me, and it hurt
Now I'm supposed to be
endlessly professional and circumspect
after you slashed my face with your tongue
you expect me to remain calm
as you put another lie in your file
as you can't find a single thing to like about me
as I do for you, but you never thank me
but pretend I don't exist
and take it all for granted
and criticize and lie and try to get away
with more
You can tell me lies
You can take from me
and give nothing back
I'm sorry dear
I don't feel circumspect
It's the only thing I could think of doing
to rid myself of your presence
to free myself from baseless accusation
that I'm supposed to take as nothing much
and be maligned and act professional
and still I must take the higher ground
because that is the only thing that will save me
from your confused attacks
if you feel cornered, the abuse will unleash
Why must I fight to get the truth accepted?

On on select part of an Israeli beach in Haifa
Army kids, boys and girls
Crowded in this one place
Cordoned off by Kadeema
Badmitton without the net
or soft little bungy thing
Two ping pong rackets and one
hard ball back and forth
Bat! Bat!
Two boys, in lines up and down
their beach, two rows deep at least
near the water's edge for traction
Walk through and a ball heads for your face
but never hits
they are that good
and you feel silly
for being scared
until a racket whacks near your ear
and your hair moves
with a current of air
Zillions of bat! Bats!
They never think to
stop for your benefit
that is not in their culture
as you are unscathed,
only fearful
A beach cluttered with boys and girls
sit on old towels close together
Ceaseless, lively chatter in the hot sun
Displaying to each other as the sound of kadeema
and the ocean waves slosh in and out
Girls relaxed *******, start to peak out
of their string bikinis
As boys look on, move closer
ever closer
and the *******, feeling safe, expose themselves more
to the Mediterranean sun

As we are assaulted
by words or deeds
or lies or misinformation

Fight back, not accepting
the undeserved damnation
of another
no matter how powerful

Fight back
as the naked girl waiting in line
to die in front of the **** gas chamber
was asked by an officer if she was a dancer

So she danced towards him
Perfect movements
Grabbed his gun
And shot him

And in that moment
Before her own quick
death which came from
another ****'s gun
she reclaimed herself

Fight back
For even if we lose
the external battle
We do not lose
the strength that lies inside

Early on a foggy morning
Each workday, past year and a half
My eyes wander to your lights
Your office, are you there?
Are you at your laptop
Sitting in your over sized chair
eyes glued to the screen

How I wanted to know you
To befriend you
How I wanted to look to those lights with warmth and trust
To feel your presence as protection

Only now I'm afraid
I can't trust you over most things
Your eyes have flashed at me in anger
as I disintegrate into something you can't manage
Pure emotion and sadness
Frustration at lies

Something in me dies now
When I see those lights now and remember that hope
"All beginnings are beautiful" I know the saying
And this is not the beginning, and may be the end

How I yearned to find the key
To friendship and soothingly
we'd chat and feel so good
And now I'm frightened. I don't feel good

You said things would be fine, but they aren't
Can I dig my way out of this hole?

I want to run away
I hate this place, don't want to stay

Feeling persecuted, my Achilles heel breaks open
And I'm flooded with emotion
I feel as if I've been sliced open
And healing this will take more than potion

When I was a child, at the hands of my mother
She took the swipes that lead to this feeling
She was the first to persecute
To make the pain lasting
To dig deeper and deeper, jamming like a brute
As I squirmed and begged for mercy
Said I was sorry a million times for nothing

And today when it feels the same
Back comes all that pain
A wellspring
My blood drains out
And I'm in a pool of emotion
and can't get out

"I'll probably be in the bathroom before it, throwing up," says my Union representation
I'm in her office, seeking her advice
And she knows exactly what I'm going through
Except for her it was because of another him, not you
And now it's you.  Now it's both of our plight.

You sent me to her because you're "concerned"
If I don't play my cards right, from you I'll be burned
"If he doesn't know what to do,
if he feels cornered he'll get abusive and attack."
Says another ally who has my back

My union rep feels my pain
Why are we on this sick train?
Bossed by people with no people skills
Do they think they don't need to deal with human beings?

Lies about me, you think are truths.
Can I shake loose?  
Or is this just going to turn ugly

Take the higher ground, she says
Document everything says the other
One way or another
I feel the crowd closing in
Targeted, cases made against me about how I don't fit in
Willfully ignore the rules

To think I once thought we'd be friends
Well, that is at an end.
I don't know if I'll survive
Now I can barely look at you, barely say "hi"

Always at the end,
I gather around women
we help each other
we must defend
against the gathering male onslaught
people who attack without thought
Never a man in sight
The knight is a myth, it's right
The knight is the one with the weapon
And we women must gather together for protection

I advise
A criminal's mind is mine
How it could be done
A secret meeting for two become one

I know just what I'd wear
and how I'd get there
and what I'd do inside of there
to you

And after that  I wouldn't care
Maybe that's the sad part, I'd swear

Not real
little old man
I want to know you have problems
like me
like we

Now I work it self consciously
let me keep my job, oh please

What I wouldn't do
for the likes of you

I've put it to the test
wore my shortest, lowest, tightest best
that I could get away with at work

and see you come running
see you sit next to me
for lunch I arranged for all of us
and peak at my *******
behind a tangle of hair and behind the keys
around my neck

So it works for me, too
And what I wouldn't do
to keep my job

Why I ever lamented
your advertisement
in the NY Times
Your sickly look, it's she you took
swept off her feet
I know how it feels
Found her again on the internet
while you were desperate
In Haifa, a million miles away from English without an accent
You hunted her down

A clown you are
She, editing dime novels by candlelight
manufacturing romance for the racks of Walmart
Next to the car mags and tattoo girls are those things
women read
gotta make a living somehow

So she can fill in the spaces between your attention
with her imagination, stoked daily from corporate romantication
She can live in her bubble world and see what she wants
eternally and think it's real

So she's better for you than me
because your love isn't real, never was, never will be
Both of you from the land of fake nobility
Prep schools and Ivies that lead to jobs
in sparkly NYC lobbies and decaf mochachinozeenos
with a side of 100 calorie pastry

Before dinner at the Italian restaurant
where you can show you are loved and love

And you, with your fakery
You shallowness, can collect your trust check
And work just a little, and blow the cold coals of her love once
in awhile to get the corporate machinations again in her head
to spin a fantasy romance

I'll look for it at Walmart.

Hurry fingers across the keyboard
deadline, deadline approaching fast
soon an observation
endless lamentation on my mind
why to live like this?
from illness to work and back again
perceptions amiss from pure nervousness
I am squeezed and hurried
worried, ever worried

"But what are their jobs?" she asked
my mother, the only one in the world
who would demand that cats have jobs
or perhaps it is only a requirement from another era
they should catch mice, except there are no mice
they should catch snakes, but  I've never seen a snake in my apartment

My cats keep house
A stack of papers needs to be spread on the floor
This makes it more comfortable to sit on

Small objects must be knocked from raised flat surfaces
Cats like to be up high
and they like to have plenty of room

First, there is the interest of knocking the object,
watching it's movement to the edge
How much effort does it take to move it?
Does it slide?
Or does it lurch and stop.
And how does it land on the floor?
Does it break apart? Splatter? Bounce?
Flat surfaces are for sitting and sleeping on
Small objects get in the way, and should be stored
on the floor

Mostly, my cats jobs are to be cute
And that they are very good at

What is my job?
That could fill a small report
But really, what is it?

Maybe, it is to enjoy life
like my cats
breath by breath
no matter what happens

Oh world, sometimes you are too much
People dash their words against me
Like angry, grey waves challenge rocks on the coast  in a storm
Words, spray from the storm, like saliva, floating up and landing
splat next to me
foaming and wet

My eyes are soaked in water from they sky tears
When I braved a walk to the angry coast
Afraid of the power of the Bay
Seemingly endless, overwhelming, unremitting
the loudness of the wave's rants and crashes
ceaseless, overwhelming as I stand near the cliff's edge
Somehow I wanted to know this
to face this

Like your words
I am hit with salt water from below, fresh water from above
how did I get into this storm?
on a hot October day with a fever of 101
You argue with me, accusations fly
Why I want to postpone some crucial work
Until I feel better and the illness that consumes me
subsides

Into my safe space I crawl
The clatter and water outside
If, and only if,  I trust myself
here there is no danger.

Knows what I know
Should be the center
of my thoughts
My feelings

How easily I am pushed away
What do you know in your heart? Trust that.
And I say, why are you giving me so much credit?
How can I trust this--my own, only my own

What pains me is not the situation
The job, the lack of it, the having or having not
of whatever
But when I'm hit with aggression and
how it changes what I think of myself
That sickening feeling when I think I've been found out

To come back to the heart.
To believe what I know
is life itself

Your embrace, like being pressed against a
fridge door
Painful, but I couldn't rub the pain
in public, but endure it as I walked away
through the silent quad
Your goofy smile as I gave you
your birthday present last year
when there was that heat
And when I touched your heart like your mother once did
and you tried to hide, but couldn't resist
You are coming
Looming large
Coming yes, with your newest girlfriend
They come and go and come again, swirling around you
backs arched, hands splaying as they reveal their inner thoughts to your
rapt attention, cross their legs, uncross them, flip their estrogen hair,
your little subordinate girlfriends
What pleasures you could have if only...
You come to judge me, with your eyes and hers.  
Your eyes I used to watch, but now you avert most times
You must maintain your detachment and judge me and
converse about me with her, as you "mentor" her
Meld with her. It must be a palpable connection between your center
and hers. Teach her how to think like you, feel you, be a part of you
Let her accept you into her
And me, up there, trying to impress both of you
to keep my job
to save my apartment, my unpaid bills, my cats
my dented car, my anti-depressant pills, my life sans
trifles, but deep and thoroughly lived
I am a slave dancer, unclothed and unprotected, but skilled and
nothing can take that away from me, not even you
As you will not look at me, only at your little electronic pad and at her,
As she sees me perform for the first time
and she won't have any idea that I was once in her place
and you were not detached
And I can only hope, that through it all, my skill
will prevail
And you, now detached little man
That I mourn, will keep me at my job
And sad as I will be to watch you watch me
and feel the energy between you both, as I
an experimental animal under a scientists eye
As I am there, and she is next to you
I still hope you stay detached and
let me keep my job and
I will be free forever.

No, you say
too obvious you must think
She looks confused
You were all up on her a second ago
Her pregnant body
swelling *******
Calculations of a lifetime
How to play them
Those little women
with a wife at home
What can you get before you
steal away to the next
That glance
That stare
How far has it ever gone
A long marriage
Your shrine to it
Perfect family
The lady doth...methinks
How far has it gone?
Have those lingering stares made you
enter darkened rooms
and fumbled in the dark for that fire
Have you ever found it
Does she care?
The little woman at home?
Or is it only, you come home to her
and that's what matters

What are you thinking?
What are you made of?
You brush against me, it's like steel
what is it, to live in a body made of granite?
Your expression so down
In the afternoon, come to think of it
in the morning, too
Why? You tell me nothing
The power, you must be a blank to me
I see you eye so many women
Their ******* make you hot, I see in a meeting
Their long hair, like your daughters
When they hold it up, and sway towards you
As they pontificate, arching their backs
in your direction
Showing you their feminine articles on their chests
As your eyes zoom in
You are wicked, little man
You can't hide it. Never learned.
Mouth moves, like a baby wanting a meal
You are aging
Painting your "girls" rooms
While your wife wrings her hands
The girls have grown and don't come home
Will they come if you spackle?
What drives you?  
Little man, with power over me
I imagine, myself covered in oil
Doing a dance before you
Seeing what it's like to be naked for your
emptiness
Oh, power, that I don't have
Oh, little man, that is what I want
That power, not what lies behind your eyes

I think, I would not fear
But you don't make sense
You are
2 plus 2 equals 5
An enigma
The imaginary collar around my neck
tightens as I know you will look
at me in your closed office
vacant grey eyes seeing yourself
or something I don't understand

You hold the key to my financial future
This job.  You, the boss
and I think you're crazy
In a zone where nothing makes sense
Where the ground is unstable and shifts
And I look around at hollow eyes
moving and very busy
You
and you are simply quite mad

I see nothing but blackness
Hear only voices
of authority I don't trust
Knowing I'm among people I fear
These days, there is no safety
Try to get inside their reality
The owners, the deciders
Can't
I don't know  IDK
What will happen?

"They'll all want to read ******," you say
I am frozen
Strange words from a school administrator
"Or 'The Story of O'" says another man across from me

A long pause
You both wait
Eyes glance in my direction
What will I say?
I can hear you breathe
What do I think?
I can feel your desire to know like a touch
" I guess ****** isn't very much compared to what they have today"
An additional thought to give new life to the pause
What gets me going?
A silence has been layed out in front of me
to hint at what I like
Expectant breath, I am aware of
until the silence becomes dead
and the moment has passed

I say nothing
I know I would raise your blood pressure
And you're old

I'm into kink
and I don't read boring old books about it
I like to be in control
It comes from years of horse back riding

All our eyes politely averted, twitching around we inspect each other
Women's locker room, women's body

Endless variations but I'm always struck
by our vulnerability
Our body carries us, our consciousness
but is clearly designed for the use of another
Nothing much to protect it
Endlessly prepared for the act of making another
Soft and swinging, nauseatingly available

And I understand
how for centuries we have been merely chattel
with great potentials
because our body is so overwhelming
so obviously important
for survival and therefore valuable and coveted
and our own will
so easily suppressed
by a chance encounter
desired or not

Bleeding every month on it's own timeline
never very strong
An agenda of it's own
that easily co-operates with an enemy
A walking science experiment

And yet
It is ours
We put up with it
it belongs to us

If we can protect it
We can do as we like

A few weeks ago, I could feel
Now there's no time
My grief is just a problem to be flicked away
like fuzz on a clean work table
out of place

Who cares about your humanity at work?
Work as an end in itself
As proof of being
When I slow it down I see strange things
Confusion that is never clarified
Wanderers through the daylight responding
to fantasies
Take a moment and breathe
Feel that you already are

There are many things to do
Not much time to be
How did it get this way?
Facetime Facebook happy meetings
feigning enthusiasm for strangers who
are only curiousities
who I don't know and yet spend hours a day with

How did we get this way?
We all have our lives, tucked away, unimportant
As we plow through what is thought of as worthwhile

And I feel like a hamster on a treadmill
Running ever faster
Returning again and again for more
of nowhere

It's the way he looks at you a vet said
He's right
Your brother gone, only you are left
cross eyed full blooded Israeli street cat
who, as soon as his eyes were unstuck from infection
gave me that look

A tiny kitten, the size of my hand
He looked into my eyes, past the retina
into what lay beyond, my soul?
Human and animal boundaries blurred
He wanted to know me

Most cats are just cats
Like your brother,
Beautiful eyes, but a cat's stare
A cat's life, intersected momentarily with a **** sapien
a ground ape

But you are different
You are interested in me
You are a cat who studies humans
Who wants to know them, bond with them

He's a great cat, they all said
at the vet
My precious one, please stay a long time

Arriving at work and fearing the day
My inner world destroyed and neglected
I would walk, and look for my guiding light
If you were there, the lights would be on
and I could see that long thin greenish light
from hundreds of feet away and it would be like
the lighthouse in the storm
and I would warm my tattered mind in it
know that I would see you

And it was always a disappointment
You don't care about me, only yourself, your job, your family
I am noticed for what I can do to help you with these things
Or for a brief ****** moment as you glance and flirt
Like a tasty little high

Today I walk, my eyes averted from your office
trying to soothe my shattered inner world
and take care of it like a wounded child
and build my own warmth
my own fire within
to nurture and sustain me.

Last year, you were gracious
We sat attentively listening to your endless commentary
on the making of coffee and watched carefully as you used your two hundred dollar
coffee machine and grinder to munch up cooked beans and
make them into brown slightly oily bean juice
and so long as we were sufficiently impressed, we could partake.

This year, you gossip behind the scenes
approach people about what to do about me
drinking your coffee creamer, which is also special
and you stare at me with a look that seems to want
me to make your world flourish and grow and the sun to shine
on you every day and to renew your life with my heartfelt amazement
at your being
like a mother at her newborn child

And I am only trying to survive, and you have plenty of coffee creamer
so I can't even make it up to you, and I do not share your worry
that someday, you might open up the now crowded fridge and find nothing
I do not understand this kind of devastation
It seems petty and silly to someone like me who has woken up
to the blood and guts and body meat scattered around
her own life and had to scramble and fear and survive somehow

So when confronted, there's nothing I can do
but apologize, and I dissapoint again by not sharing things in common with you
and this angers you and you behave like an ignored child because I'm supposed
to share your world and interest and if not at least fake it because
that's what you need and I have the body of a mother
who is to give to the world who needs and needs
and that is supposed to be my job, my vocation
and my only wish in life

So I make my own bean juice and it's foul and rancid but I don't care
because the truth is, I never cared about your coffee
like a lover who is jaded and has given up, I was only faking it

So tired
Back to work and then there's this social event and that social event
and the last one is the best one and I'm still trying to get over not having
last years job that was taken from me and given to you and still
trying not to even think about this because this is a whole new year and

Driving past Napa Valley's Wineries
Hotels, Buses, wine
Everything wine and I don't know where I'm going
My GPS broke, and the directions are drive straight and you'll see it

Suburbia has turned into true wealth
I've gone back in time, wine Haciendas on hill tops
like feudal mansions, waiting for the peasants to do the actual
work of wine, the dirt and the sweat of wine as the owners
twiddle their thumbs and worry about the stock market and their wine

I arrive at my Castle.  For a few moments I will be allowed to taste
the lifestyle of the wine and pretend that I too belong in this castle
watching grapes ripen and waiting for the teaming hordes to do my work
and the mechanical wine processors sit idly waiting for the grapes and I feel a tinge of
sadness and fear for the grapes to be processed like in a slaughter house
until I realize they are only fruit, and not mammals

And on the hot deck overlooking the beautiful, silent valley with grapes ripening before
our eyes the only chair left is next to you

I sit down and look to my right and I see the woman who I feared would take my job and now did
and I wonder how it is that this has happened that I've driven for miles in the hot sun
through miles of grapevines only to be made to sit next to you who jealously drooled over
my job and could never say anything good about my work and then you won.

And we talk and I'm very clever and you don't like that because I'm supposed to be stupid
and it's supposed to be obvious why you got the job not me and not some seniority thing
and you say nothing nice, and it's only me keeping up a charade of conversation that
could turn ugly at the drop of a pin but doesn't due to my skill
and you then leave made uncomfortable by the evidence of my continued existence
and lack of dumbness

And it's only later that I realize in my imagination I wanted to hurl you from the deck
and into the wine press