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Friday, July 31, 2009

Fast Day 113 July 31 2009 {Too Many Co]ats...

Too Many Coats, Too Many Colors
When I went to see the Lord Buddha,
he was appearing in Denver,
so I walked one thousand miles -
and I thought, ah! I shall be as new and simple
as a new-born Amish, and wear a wide brimmed hat
and use no electricity
and ignore the internet
and salt my speech with words archaic...

When I went to see Jesus
he was fishing on the sea
so I walked the one thousand miles
and swam the last eleven, like an iron man competition
or triathlon, as young as when I was young indeed
and wore a Speedo
and acted selfless
and spoke in parables and shy smiles...

When I went to hear the Prophet,
and when I took a taxi
to Union Square to hear the Reb Akiva
I spoke Arabic and Hebrew like a real dākhil
standing by the Western wall or standing up above,
and wore a kafiya
as I strutted,
and a fine high shtreimel...

And when I arrived, I was too late.
Weighed down with the right clothes,
the correct ideas, and impostures of "holy" folk,
I had imperceptibly slowed to a crawl
as I dragged endless chains of beliefs
behind me across the desert,
raising a cloud of dust
into the sky,
as high,
as high,
as Hubble's high!

(Arab) dakhil: Arab citizen of Israel
shtreimel: a fur hat

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Fast Day 112 July 25 2009 {Living and Dying}

Living and Dying

six o'clock we eat;
then play cards;
someone on the tv
screams at us.

a giant man enters, talks to me.
I do not know him, yet he
seems to know me.
there is a vague aura of blame.

hey, dad! how's things on the home front?
you still playin' euchre with...what's her name?
the blond gal...

not bad, not bad.
and the blond gal's dead;
they cut off her leg...then the solar
umbilicus tied to the sun
that gives us walk!

get you anything? no?
I went by your old place.
it's still there.
same place.

except, he says, except
they painted the front door
and tuck pointed the brick
and put in a new sidewalk
and...oh, just about changed
everything inside out!
and there's a new family
down the street, some asian
types, I think.

six o'clock we eat;
then play cards;
someone on the tv
screams at us.

beyond tv screams, it is too quiet,
even when the giant talks:
at my house, there is a kitchen counter
to be made spotless,
and a carpet to be vacuumed,
and chores to be done
and there's a whole harvest of life!
...and life is just that, cleaning
up the mess of breath,
the junk of love,
the jetsam of a child,
and seeing god within
small, small desires
that are created
in 7 days!
picture: habitacion par daniel r

Sunday, July 19, 2009

Fast Day 111 July 18 2009 Xinjiang {Susan from Xinjiang}

Susan from Xinjiang, Central Asia

My saffron beauty -
spicy, spicy is your skin!
hot, hot - a Xinjiang meal!
I will prepare, I skewer the meat,
and turn it slowly on my spit! -
my spit above your fire!

Your yellow skin -
tangy, tangy turmeric
I lie disconsolate until you come
to serve me up my ardent food!
a juicy pomegranate spiced
with lemon makes my mouth pucker!

Your hot tongue
burns me like a fragrant candle!
cinnamon pepper ginger flames
dancing on my lighted wick!
Xinjiang meal is very filling -
soon after I hunger again!
pix: alan1954

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Fast Day 110 July 10 2009 {Desperate Summer}

Desperate Summer

the beat
on the street
and the heat
on my feet
If we go to the pool
where we can get cool...
and if I jump aroun'
and play like a clown
and go swimming
in your heart,
in your love...
that burns me to shout...
would you throw me out?
just askin', honey.

the train
in my brain
make me insane,
fallin' like rain...
and pomegranates to drink
leads me to think
of red silken dresses
and waterfall tresses
of your scent
of your heat
my rain wets and dries,
all over my eyes.
just askin', honey.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Fast Day 109 July 3 2009 {Birthday: Going 60}

Birthday: Going 60

When you're going sixty, I go shotgun.
Sixty is a parcel of years.
It's no time
for training wheels...
you drop those off
just like you drop
the sexy lies,
the videotapes,
of God
of country
of what is good and
what is bad.
I'll go shotgun if there ain't no potholes.
Going sixty once
Jack Wilson hit
a pothole big as a canyon:
when Stan look
he sees an empty hole;
when I look
I see king sun, queen moon -
maybe going sixty ain't so bad -
if you see the potholes comin' !
I'll ride shotgun, but
I'm no hood ornament!
no streamline, quicksilver babe!
no indian chief,
no german runes!
naked as a motorcycle,
streaking as the wind,
going sixty ain't so bad
when you litter the road
with your past sins:
I drop 'em like dead cigarette butts
and watch 'em tumble in the
rear view mirror !
Going sixty ain't so bad
Did I say I'll ride shotgun?