Monday, October 24, 2005


The long spans in between my manifolded lives
Casting shadows on my questions
Of that conspicuous ugliness that to death
Most certainly leads
In inability to dream, by unanimity
Presenting itself in colourless sparks
Spilling from the lightbulb in my room
Smelling his death from a far
And a life, such as a lie
I did not deserve to live it
Quite unrighteous to speak it
Swimming in the darkness of those pangs
The hideousness of fear
Of that fear yet long bygone
As those stories ever but untold
The sights of my father, my aunts
The childhood that I lost
Somewhere in a synagogue
In the death of that silence
Or the silence of that death
As I scream from within outwards
And reinvented my story in easiness
The easiness of truth, of justice
Your ticket to life
As if it meant anything at all
Feeling that guilt
All bathed in golden blood
Blamed on a precarious happiness
Well wasted in a grocery store
Or perhaps in a kiosk
To buy a newspaper
In the Middle East
Or paper to write down a story
Never meant to happen
Never meant to end
Perhaps not meant to die
And as clouds hover on my desire
My lust feels to die
While a life hangs from a cord
Such as those blankets in the morning
Hanging in cheap wires
From the window of an Arab woman
Incongruent and noticeable
And yet I keep desiring
Those demeaneours, by morning
By night
With the bitter conspicuousness
Of their traumatic foreseen end
On which no plays were written
For being by now
Too assimilated in reality
Perhaps a part of the landscape
Like our dead, like our shame
Desiring the dirt of other ports
And dust pouring from the air
Such as a glass of cognac
In the morning Blues of a German woman
Of a woman I never met
Of a woman with a thousand names
Desiring irrational pleasure
And the warmth of those cold bodies
In the living of a stranger
Placing my endlessness
Hidden well inside
A sofa of multiple colours
Or a glass of orange juice
Lusting for that love
For that warmth
That never wished to be found
Among screens and naked bodies
Among survival kits
And personality specials
Only for a day
Perhaps only for today
I will hover on my own shadow
To cast some down on the mellow
Yet a morrow
With another of those
Body of old, sculpture of guilt
Flesh-riping sweat of desire
Only for a day
Perhaps only today
Shall I want some more of that
Of this
That never filled my hunger
Or satiated my cold
Thwarting beneath my eyes
For a fraction of a second
In the eyes of a stranger
I will never see again
With the knowing conviction
He will find out by himself
Without dissecting any words
As matter ceases to exist
When acceleration
Reaches the speed of light
Thus I cease to exist every morning
Prisoner of the smoke
Prisoner of chemical reactions
Victim of earthly justice
I cease to exist every morning
In the eyes of a stranger
I wish I never touched
As I embrace myself
To keep from the cold
In the summer days
In the stagnation of some novel
Perhaps a romance even
Nothing to recall
And on Wednesday mornings
I wake up to some coffee
A bit resentless
With less regret
A walk to work
Perhaps a dog
Even a tie, all the more
I hearken not
I stumble not
And for a few seconds a day
I do take notice of god
With his multiple mercies
The same that killed my mother
Forming the completeness of a cosmological equation
And shifting the dynamics of the universe
Towards infinity
And behold, there I am
Every morning
Remembering those things I did not know
In a body of stone
That remembers no more
The names of those modern men
To whom I erected graves
That I visit every morning
When I open the eyes
And I plant no flowers
Because I am late for work
Not being completely sureIf I am still ill or not
If this street reminds me
Of Jerusalem or New York
Perhaps not