I’ve got cheap suitcase syndrome
I can’t sleep but on the roadside
under troves of leaves
enwrapped in wings of night
worms beneath my head
an apple in my eye
dust around my pants cuffs
Walt Whitman under my boot soles
did I mention suitcases?
I bank my will in them
tie strings around my navel
to remember, or forget,
whichever suits my case
like a blind wizard-boy
don’t look now here comes
another arrow
Nothing moves
in this heat
except desire
In the antique shop
on the ground floor
of the building
where my parents lived
the year they married
I thought I heard someone
call my name
as if I lived there
too, so long before
my birth in the camp.
The Art of Dreaming I
1. Close your eyes
2. Remember
The Art of Dreaming II
1. Trust your eyes
2. Surrender
The Art of Dreaming III
1. Damn your eyes
2. Carry on
The Art of Dreaming IV
1. Open your eyes
2. Forgive
You will understand part of what I say here,
like seeing parts of the river of use to you,
like knowing the rock by the cracks
into which you can squeeze a hand or foot.
Love dissolves walls, but kernels remain.
How can I embrace you, if we become one?
How can I crave your touch, if it is only my own?
For every melding there is a sever,
and for every sever a mending.
It’s a riddle: how can you know a changing fate?
How can you see yourself through your own eyes?
