behind the bars

In kindlier weathers, simpler moods
Sincerity would spill forth
Straight from the source
Were the moon to change direction
I’d be all over you
Pull your hair just right
my hot hands on your back
sweat drops on your forehead
I’d leave Abraham and his burned out ethics on the shelf
to watch in invidious amusement
Listen – the Jews who invented guilt
can take it all away from me.

You stare and listen
while I come clean, pathetically behind bars
of unwarranted judgment and lies
my allegations made without evidence
were wrong.
the weak nod in receipt, the twist in your eye
that unpleasant stare into nothingness
Tell more about your hurt
than you ever could.
And I tell you all these things now
Yet there are so many words
that you are still owed.
With the right amount of resuscitation
could love breathe love again?
or is this some joke
that gets sadder every time?
Rickshaws and trains, camels and cars
will both get you there
But it’s not the same,
Nor will it ever be again.


sf under nuclear attack – photos

the SFist, and kids at miami ad mentioned this to me. I showed up a half hour before the simulated attack was over, but manage to get tossed into the media circus and get some shots of the troops in action. something to fight your misty mornings~

the candlestick neighbor

the neighbor who fights cancer
teaches my mom how to live
over walks and frozen yogurts,
through cracked lips and a thrashed chest
she savors the occasional Sunday smile
they’ll disappear in between naps
and mom reappears, like Moses from the Burning Bush
suddenly seeing the light that Dr. Phil could never bring.
the neighbor – Amy –
a broken candlestick, still burning
yet melting into itself
getting deformed by the day-
When did death
become the precipitant
to know the living?

and now, I think of nothing but grabbing my Canon
to capture the intimacies of my father
preserve the pinkness of his Hungarian nose
the nearly finished crossword puzzles he won’t let me in on
the mornings he remembers to floss
oh, and his beastly snores.
(those my ears could do without)

i think the lessons exist in him
some covered, waiting steadily for the right key

unlocked with a son’s embrace

and the question

‘Who are You?’

disappearing acts (in progress)

just when i was convinced
that i disappeared you
filed you away in the bottom drawers
of long lost and never any chances
there you appeared
some dirty magic trick
learned way back when.
you ruined coldplay for me
stole gray sweaters
and my jonathan safran foer books
(the autographed ones)
tell me truths that only you could know
four thousand memories unlocked
with the sweet sting of an acupunctured kiss
your eyes
is that where you keep your power
to turn all the others into ghosts i never cared knowing?
can it ever get so familiar
that it becomes unfamiliar?

why why why?

why do people collect so much stuff? we are still gatherers. only this time around, it’s picture frames and books and old art magazine and not grain, barley, or tomatoes.

speaking of tomatoes, we got a whole bag of them in our apt. waiting to be consumed and used for sandwiches, pastas, and tomato throwing contests.

i think one of the funniest insults ever has to be: why don’t you go eat a bag of dicks.

the imagery, by itself, conjures up something i’d wish to avoid. i would never want to find a giant trash bag of dicks, let alone eat them. what are some of yours?

i always seem to contemplate life and engage in deep personal reflection whenever i’m shopping at trader joe’s. hanging out in the meat section begs the question: what am i doing with my life? i’ve been shopping at joe’s for years now. today i was thinking, how odd it is, to be older, in a new city, but still in familiar surroundings. god bless you and your maritime thematics. of course i need spicy salame and chicken cutlets and spicy flaxseed tortilla chips and grapefruit flavored soda. i need you, i need you.

kudos to friends leaving bad spaces and moving to healthier ones. how lovely it is that we all have the power to hit the reset button at any point during our lives. yet only those with the intelligent mixture of swift recklessness and courage manage to push the button. i love people like that.

gil small is the best. LA rocks. weekend trips in malibu, boogie boarding, feeling like were 12 again. sweet los angeles and beach nostalgia. nothing like it. go do something you loved to do when you were younger. if it doesn’t feel just as sweet, then please dig deeper and get moving.

have a happy shabbat everyone. one full of rest and the recharge.