Even my coffee needs a pep talk,

For I feel no relief when the
caffeine kicks in.

I know the tools
Time heals;
Not all wounds
Are bad memories to ****.

Yet I go to war defeated
Escape in the world of dreams,
Only to wake up even more
drained.

Time heals, they say, but how
much time — when it seems
infinite.

Switched off the router today,
Waited a few seconds
Maybe my energy will start
blinking
again.

Not yet,
Dear friend.

Be patient,
The sun has not set.

My coffee just kicked in, and I can
still write a poem.

Her subtle lean left
accentuates the curve

of her waist - reminds
me of the curve of a street

in Rome where – I falll
in love with time

that moved so slowly –
The movement in the song

she plays for me turns
towards me, - The air

is a scented moment
of bed linens, lilacs,

leather, wood, ***,
soil - where memories

are instantaneous –
Everything is memory –

Everything has taken place – I am
in the middle of a Matinee

that I have never seen
before, but remember

so fondly. I am here now.
I easily could have been anywhere else.

I did conspire to love you.

2. The moon was happy with us.

3. Baudrillard’s concept of “Object Fetishism” is more relevant than Marx’s.

4. Thank you.

5. Trees are closer to heaven than the angels. (I know, you already know that, but I like the line).

6. You have the most beautiful sorrowful eyes.

7. The future enters into us, in order to transform itself in us, long before it happens. (RILKE 1912)

8. Locomotives fall in love going in opposite directions.

9. Certain earthquakes do not like themselves.

10. The more one contemplates the less one lives; the more one accepts recognizing himself in the dominant images of need, the less one understands ones’ own existence and ones’ own desires. (Debord 1967)

11. I did plot to love you.

12. The black crow on the wire is not me.

13. Umbrellas can be opened inside. (Only black; counter intuitive, I know).

14. Your touch; my body remembers softly.

15. I did love you.

16. Clocks sometimes stop for no reason.

17. Even the most unexpected dream is a rebus that contains a desire or its reverse, a fear…Everything conceals something else.
(CALVINO 1972)

18 Sometimes letters sent, never arrive.

19. Only you ever made me blush.

20. In the end, everything is just a dream.

21. This poem will maximize your interval times.

22. Love is ambiguous, at best a “Contamination”, from the Latin *** tangere. “leaving a tactile print.”

23. I will let you go.

24. I will publish this poem

25. I will always love you.


Sincerely Mr. Leibow

The Secret Lives of Things

I am thinking of
the lives of Ferris wheels
and how the world revolves
because of the dream
of a barber sleeping
in his chair.

My meditations are such.

Now I am thinking
about the arguments
of scissors
or the disclosures
of curtains
or the epics of children
playing in clouds of pollen.

Have you ever thought
if somewhere there is
a librarian who only falls
in love with men named
Dewey?
or if stairs
contemplate the meaning
of varying degrees of
footsteps?

Maybe not.

I once over heard the deliberations
of empty rooms wondering what
they can do to dwell more consciously
in the spaces they enclose,

and eavesdropping, I've listened to
the murmuring of windows
trying to be less vulnerable
to the gaze of strangers.

This world is filled with such things.

Like the time I was involved
by accident
in a contest of streets
everything was moving underneath me.
or being accused by a debate
of church bells for not
believing
in the providence
of empty chairs.

Have you ever wondered
about the dreams of hats
or the tragedies of suits?

Or more importantly,
the secret lives of your fingers?
How they remember your life
in small gestures like the path
of stars displayed in a child’s hands?

I have.

I miss the nights spent
Under warm candle light,
Writing poetry together
Under the sheets
Of stormy skies.

I miss the mornings
Slipping through the fingers
That play with strands
Of wine red hair
And porcelain skin.

I miss the days that
Could have been,
If only I would have been
Brave enough to see
Myself in your eyes.

I miss the evenings
Caressing the glow
Of your life-giving,
ever-beckoning lips.

I miss the moments
That never happened.
I miss what we've never shared.
I miss the love that might've...

Yes I am greedy
for a single tomorrow
no wonderful shining moment
no rivers and rainbows
nor sunrise sunset skies of gold and cotton candy pink
just another day, like many others I have seen
a belly full of living, would be food enough I think

lost fragrances of easy summer mornings
when all she knew was the dirt
between her toes
and scattered throughout her
golden hair.

lost melodies of lazy summer days
when all she knew was the water
of river susurrations
and warmest shortlived rains
caressingly falling.

lost bites of ripe summer evenings
when all she knew was the sweetness
of rose-red lips
and shared apricots with she
of auburn hair.

lost glances of torrid summer nights
when all she knew was the lust
of her youth
and the wine shared between
first loves.

lost times of summer's end
when all she knew was gone.

I remember my first crush
It gave me the greatest rush
I wanted to be with him all the time
****, can someone be so handsome?
It should definitely be a crime!

I was so smitten by him
The sight of him would give me butterflies
He always looked fresh and never grim
I could never look away from those eyes.

I would find ways
to stay near him
And each and every day
my eyes would look only for him.

I knew his favourite song
I knew his favourite colour
Our small conversations
would leave me in a fluster.

I would smile all the time
because this crush of mine…
It gave me the greatest rush
It was hard to keep it hush
after all, it is a crush.