Posts
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τό καλόν, τό ἀληθές, τό ἀγαθόν (Transedentals)
The woman wears her skin
like a bathrobe.
She stands in the middle
of a golden field,
weeping fresh water.
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The Storm's Eye
The sky
blows in more snow,
a breath
from frozen elsewhere.
There is a storm
raging
inside the silent rage
of the storm,
inside God’s eye,
unopened.
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Cubism
‘"With your pictures you apparently want to arouse in us a feeling of having to swallow rope or drink kerosene.”
– Braque to Picasso
Maybe it’s as simple as this:
Maybe God’s hundredth name is His face. -
At the Altar
Oh Lord of Windows,
Oh Window,
Oh Mirror with Drawn Curtains,
maybe if I keep tapping,
keep drumming my fingers on your altar,
you’ll wake up. Maybe -
The Farmer's Market
my uncle grabbed a bag
of fiddleheads,
tender beginnings,
at the farmer’s market,
said he was going
to fry them
with honey, pink-
peppercorn, and salt.
the farmers bring dirt -
Mixed Metaphors Chapter 1
A light mist was pouring in off the Caspian sea. I closed my click, sighing into the dark as I pulled on a yellow, wide-legged, vinyl jumpsuit.
Loves
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The East Wind
The East Wind is a rabbi in a darkened shul. He sits pored over the Torah scroll long into the night, his back bent like a cane. People come and go and come again, whispering prayers for the needy, the hungry, the sick.
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Life goes on
it was bound to happen eventually
the death of a best friend
but now
now is a bad time
on hannukkah
what kind of a miracle is that?
now im miserable
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hanukkah miracles
my walk home.
the 4 p.m. sunset already lighting the shamash on the horizon,
melting the mountains like orange wax.
lunch with my friends, onion rings & coconut yogurt
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I Will Love You Forever
I went to work the day after they announced it. I stocked the shelves and listened to the radio from the speakers in the warehouse ceilings. Cars were piling up at the exits, trying to get out of town.
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Snowfall
As dry as sand,
wrung out and shrunken from the cold,
loose and shivering like dead hemlock needles in a parched winter wind,
puddling and sifting in the wake of footsteps.
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Awe
The stickers on the lamp posts that don’t go away. That is God. Embedded in my scalp under my hair where I can not see, there is God.