fill us with wonder and joy,

The stares and smiles of our counterparts that

touch upon us in our most vivid dreams,

All pale in comparison and cower in diminution,

at that never-ending passion of knowing.

For there is no greater poverty than conserved ignorance,

one might as well never be born were they be cursed with having no sense of wonder,

the life-imbibing desire that never departs,

and maintains us aching for existence.

enduring the stench of booze and sweat

I pray a heathen’s, an outlaw’s prayer

as forthright, as solemn, as any pope, like so many martyrs

that each burden born

that each doubt overbearing

that all whispers and taunts daunting

Will haunt you not, will alarm you none, will perplex you never

for this here modest, groveling love

clasps you perchance with the most wretched of hands

and notwithstanding, shall bear that sweetest image of yours

until they snap, unwavering,

wilting, in love.

מבעד לערפילי העשן

אל מול ניחוחות השיכר והזיעה

אשגר תפילת כופר, פורע-חוק

עזה כזו הנמסרת מאת כל רב, משפתותיהם של הקדושים

למען שכל עול הנישא

למען שכל חשש מכביד

למען שכל הלחישות והעררים המבעיתים

לאו ירדפוך , לאו ירעישוך , לאו יחרידוך

שכן אהבה ענווה , שפופה זו

תחבוק אותך , אף עם אצבעות הנרמסות

וחרף , תשאנה צלם מתוק-מדבש , צלמך

עד שאלה תמוגנה , ללא -חת

נבולות , אחוזות-אהבה.

by the pangs of toil propelled

Marshalled as grenadiers, at-arms brothers

by bloodshot word-lords led

The armies of target and source deploy

in their breasts for armistice a tremulous cry

They beseech a gluttonous polyglot’s employ

And by their skilled and merited conductance ally

and a thousand actions

Left to treat a babe born ignorant

for I know not how to upbring

this poor beautiful, remarkable fiend

with my poor, enormous hands

the audience, spectating, may offer at best puny words of admiration

forgot a short while later

but it is our head and palms, alone, undesired

that fill its slots

and those whose heads were dismembered would attest

that our courage and personal passion

are our only merit, are the singular keys

to the gates of heaven

invade the modest passages of my barred window

They remind me of a world too frightful to explore

yet they embrace me with their gentle and careless warmth

I rise from the filthy stones of my prison

and imbibe a rare moment of cherished joy

In that lie that she rises and radiates for me

while knowing that I am not even worthy of disdain

Alienation is the fortune of the faced

coveted by the faceless, helpless in obtaining even hatred

For hatred begs acknowledgment

an asset pertaining only to the living

And the faceless yearn only to live, caring not for the means

much agitation and theatre

and record in silence, unpublished

Wondrous and comic, vile and vicious, many a tale riveting

Heaven mine is a continuous thread of spectacles

each moment trying, magmatic

later yawned, now fawned

A fossil of passion, ruin of marvel

I would sit in deserted galleries

cogitating lone upon moments glorious

when they all wailed, cried and cheered

lamenting that all moments are not such

—————————-

Words uttered with great tales to follow

proliferate, become stock, and spread

————————————->

And then, seamlessly

become entries

and these entries are brief, succinct

————————————->

When I press definitions unto my lips

unto my mind, unto myself

I consider them with care

I treat them as newborn children, and do my best

to provide them with everything a word needs

But I know that their history surpasses my frail efforts that

they will mean, someday, that which dictionaries cannot describe

My lettered children, I grieve

for any note or chord played to your credit

that did not intend as you would

*

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