breakdown is a david

david is a breakdown a shakedown
a quakeout a suther asunder a cover
a dead redrover blackfall flown flown a
way a why is a, is a who said what who said he
said he rolled out of bed bumped his head-
case on the ceiling feeling empty feeling
shakey shake quake downout in onside
in a breakdown breakin brokeup given give a david is
david is he is a madmutt stop needs a stopcop
dropper downbreak upbroke taking stone, stones
to the casehead fallred a way a fly a flown a flew
a way a fly a flew a flown, is a, is a david.

moment of encounter

i saw a deer and the deer saw me,
one eye open and staring in my direction
as two hearts hesitated in alien chests.
i was driving my car toward home, and
the deer was idling, eating some grass.
its home may have been anywhere at all.
two hearts thumped at the exact same moment
in the time-toughened chambers of two
bodies, each alone among the millions
which comprised each of their own
separate and distinct species. i saw
the deer, and the deer saw me,
and i kept driving, and i can only
suppose that the deer
kept standing there, eating.

the [ups] & [downs] of a life which is lived

when a life is truly lively,
there’s no telling what.
no how, when, why.
ups are inverted instantly
into the most abysmal
downs, dismal and depressing,
only to turn back around
and around again. life,
when fed full of love, is:

   —a set of interlocking wheels and cogs,
      in which one small widget is slowing,
      soon to stop;
   —indescribable and inexplicable;
   —the eyes of the one who is loved, spying someone
      else;
   —unbending, unbowed.

we are holding a hungry
tiger by its tail, trying to calm it with the
clumsiest of our
utterances. we are
artless and pushing
for perfection. we
are hopeless yet full
of nothing else. we
are human, whatever
that means. we are
here, and that is what
we must learn to deal with.

truest

when not aware. i wish i knew all the similar-
ities we share with inanimate objects. i want to know what makes
my microwave feel pain. want to know
what makes it smile. or, say, those things which we
keep closest contact to. a belt, a sock, an undershirt.
do they feel each
rise and fall of our sinusoidal emotional motions?
is another person any different from another object.
a matter of the level of abstraction. if something creates heat
is it not alive? if there was some definable, describable
difference between warmth, feeling, and wisdom. but when cold
nothing else even enters into the picture. so what difference
could there be.
the truest form of life. most condensed. heat.
we are more complicated and therefore more diluted, less
alive. a life, so transient, and an inanimate, eternal, if not for life.
still don’t know the difference. time of the plastics: bring it on.
age of the aluminums. no difference. quieter if anything,
at least at first. noise always comes later, later in life.
given a choice to be inanimate: me: i just don’t know.
what of them: would they choose: say a simple punctuation,
a colon: would it want something more, or less, from life?
i don’t presume to know. if you do then you would be a liar,
but what’s keeping you? not i, for i am one too at times.
we each play every role, each lifetime or two. next time i’d
like to be a toaster.

The Jew I Save

By Sidney Boyarin
December 1991

From Ur I walked with Abraham
and knew the knife withheld at Mt. Moriah.

Thus my covenant was born,
My Bond given and my suffering fated
I was not chosen to attain power, to master nations,
To accumulate wealth for its own sake,
But to give inspiration to all who see,
To aspire to realization of the divine in all.

In Sura gray beards pondered
And left the lesson that to be chosen
Is exultation, the reward of the covenant.
I ask, “But why the suffering, the almost unbearable pain of centuries?”
I hear the answer, “So you can know.”

“So I can know?” I ask. YES.
KNOW! The eighth day cry is only the beginning.
And the Song of Songs not the glory,
And glory not the goal.

Israel seek not thy dimension
In widening flat parameters.
Your might can only be a light that leads the nations
In ever ascending roads to Peace
And Hillel’s rules carry all ever higher
With hopes and hearts uplifted.

Thus I see my peculiar fix –
A mix – of pain and work.
And exultation maybe:
Yet this I choose. A Jew to be.

Now the first light brings sharply etched understanding.
In God’s world I am only a renter,
And the security I pledged for my tenancy
Is the well-being of my generations.
The Jew in me must mark it well.
The Jew in me is the one I save!

a wind upon the cheek

the door opens & death
dances around us &
we feel it creeping up our
skin, its fingers finding their way toward
our throats. for only a moment
the door is open,
or a day, yet in that
darkness we see more than we’ve
ever beheld in the
rest of our lives, all at once,
when suddenly somebody
is gone. we march on,
into a new year, into a new
set of circumstances, with
one less than when we’d begun.
the door is closed now and we each
breathe a sigh of relief, for
we are the ones who are here,
still here for a while, until one
day it must open again,
and it is we who are
summoned to step silently through
to the other side.

late in the year / love after lunch

love in the afternoon, love
after dinner, love as he
is dying. i love him, and
why not. a heart as big as his
would make a killing
on the black market.

question marks, etc.

what happens when your feet grow to fill the shoes
which sounded the footsteps that you feared as a child?
what happens when you hate yourself and love yourself
in equal measure, for the very same reasons? why must everything be
such a goddamn struggle? can no one ever simply be happy?
is this need for controversy universal? and if it weren’t in us,
would we ever have any hope of self-improvement?
do you react in the same way as me to the everyday
bullshit that is thrown at you? do the protons and electrons in your brain
have the same positive and negative charges, the same familiar spin, as those
which are in mine? is there any brain out there which is not in some way
fundamentally fractured? who among us can raise their hand? who among us
can claim to be clean? where is the gold at the end of this rainbow?
why do i feel so sick so often?
where is god? what is love? who are you? what am i? if i push you,
will you fall?

yes I will Yes

inspired by james joyce's ulysses

yes for the beauty of it
understanding the opposite
the light on her face
half hidden shadows and
yes I loved her yes I love her yes
she was young and even if
later if older were we to become
stuck flies stuck
oh just for the beauty just for her beauty
just for loves sake yes
love loves to love oh to love yes
the seedcake the jessamine the opoponax her skin her hair yes
just for the detail yes
she and she now and she forever yes
just for her love
up on the mountain nobody just a mothergoat
no one to see
up in the jessamines yes
love for loves sake oh
yes if she yes
the beauty of yes all from a woman all for
that young one if yes if seedcake if
love loves to yes
mountain alone kissing was kissed
yes I will Yes.

questioning gravity

why water runs away from water,
incomprehensible,
the boundaries of our knowledge;
nothing defined without having
boundaries. edges of the
universe: where are they? why can’t
we see them? if it’s just a mirror,
in one side out the other, in one ear;
why to be waiting; why a brain is linked
to a body, why a one-to-one. when
one is crushed, the other as well, yet when
the other done, not the same. why we yearn,
why we ache, why a consciousness at all.
inanimate object as well, not feel hot,
not feel cold? think it’s not so, think it
does. wish, in any case. waiting, the curse of
the young, the curse of ‘me.’ why does gravity,
why not release, why not now. why can’t
water run uphill, why no sight in dark,
if blind, if blinded, what then. why speech
so much, talking, why don’t words fall
to the ground, driven down by their own
density? release impeccable, all at once,
then nothing after; nothing left. yet think
enough forward motion, inertia, keep going
after initial ascent. powerful feeling.

we breathe

we breathe fire in the nighttime,
and the waking world recoils.
we breathe hatred in our own minds:
we breathe, we breathe, we breathe.
leave it all in balled up sheets,
in sweaty, sodden socks,
leave yourself in a million magazines,
read and discarded, hardly appreciated
at all. let the world
leave its mark on you and be
subsumed, entombed in knowledge
and unable to break away from it.
worry about your job, about your
friends, about your family. let the world
put its leash on you. we breathe in
hope and breathe out frustration. we
breathe in love and breathe out fear.
we breathe in nerves, temptation,
anticipation, sacrifice, stupidity,
and we breathe out
all that we can. we breathe out
as much as possible, trying not
to hold our breath too long. what
we breathe at night, though, that
is what we should strive to be. that
is what is purest. that is who
we already almost are.

From Darkness

Knowen notten I which
sister made that fateladen pull:
arise, arise! Thy blessed sunrise
full and bright, lightfrighted
eyes ashamed of sight. Cutten
deeper then, deeper still! A’leave
me alone, I said, leave me
be. There I sat stumblefooted
(a stone!); nine moons and more
did passen on by while I there
lied: Do notten disturben! Yet
pulltugpull, tugpulltug—
and out! Outed to light,
outed to fire! So it begunnen
been started, and so I be:
Here in your home, here and free!

cuts of cloth

me weirdo you weirdo
me on jet skis you in helicopter
me weirdo you weirdo
me on strange tropical island with no name
me weirdo you weirdo
you working at a bar in downtown atlantis
me weirdo you weirdo
me in tights in pants in overalls
me weirdo you weirdo
you in rubber boots in fishskin suit hidden in delicious cake
me weirdo you weirdo
separately me you entire lives
me weirdo you weirdo
you in white me in that as well as black
me weirdo you weirdo
me golden shimmering smile
me weirdo you weirdo
you half transparent pale
me weirdo you weirdo
me in your heart you in my arms

death’s final rest (or ‘i dreamt death was dead’)

death fell down dead from an ache in his head,
and the angels rejoiced and voiced their annoyances.
we dressed death in black and we took him back,
went down to the morgue (he’d been there before),
and laid him out along the floor.
death wasn’t weighty, he was all cloak and bone,
and the set of his eyes was sallow as stone.
then we dug death a ditch, all alone on the pitch,
and we lowered him down,
to a moan from the lips of the grassless ground.
the mourners were many (i’m surprised there were any),
and most of them groaned about the way the sun shone.
death dropped down into the dark,
and the light got that much brighter.
“a fighter was he,” said the reverend, “he fought to the end.”
then we all paid respects, and thought of what’s next,
while death lay down dead in our land,
suspectedly (though not definitely) done in by his own hand.

imagine love

imagine it’s our first date, the first time
we’ve ever met. imagine that. now,
think of four random things to
say about yourself. one happy, one
tragic, and one that you’ve never
told anyone before. the fourth
is up to you. after you’ve thought
of those four things, tell me the
next thing that comes to your mind.
if you just remembered that you
ran out of milk the other day, then
tell me that. when you’ve done that,
silently stare into the mirror for two
and a half minutes. i’ll be
right there with you. okay. after
you’ve finished looking at yourself,
go into your bedroom and lock
the door. come back out only after
you’ve thought of your seven favorite
animals. tell me your second
favorite. there will be time for the
other six later. for now, just tell me
your second favorite animal. next,
lean in, while looking into my eyes,
and kiss me. do it very slowly, more
slowly than you’ve ever been kissed
yourself. this is our first date, remember.
i’ve never met you before in my life.

pink polkadots

graveyard rose, buried in snow.
you are my. when we.
ticking tock go six billion clocks.
one in every beating chest.
early bedtime, early death.
you in mine. you forever.
lesson in love, lessons for life.
a woman in white, later black.
me later in grave state.
broken homes and dirty caskets.
giveth and taketh again.
verging ever. shattered sometimes.
even in the midst of death.
everyone feels it sometimes.
love.
love and what comes later.
you, in any color. what i like.
leftovers lying livid, lost.
limp despite rigor mortis.
hard on for heaven.
like what you see.
then the other. downward, below.
not same then, not perky.
which way to go. which way would you.
even if a choice, even if, either.
ups and downs. what life is.
time is short, sometimes comes sooner.
sooner than you think.
methodology: if i had to today.
best way to go.
the same, would we, the same.
matter of place, matter of decision.
even in heartbreak is beauty.
on the darkest grave a rose.
something special. you.
something to come home to.
a give and take.

i dreamt i was dead in my bed (and my brother was holding my hand)

there is no hell or heaven here,
so the dead must rest with us.
uneasy sleep it is for them,
and queasy we to speak the least.
their bones are brittle and their skin is stinking,
and a crook is death made by each breath that we take.
a crook is death made beside empty graves,
for heaven's a hoax and hell is swelled with hoards of hags.

the dead lay dreaded in our beds,
and if we are bold we may hold their hands and hope for their souls.

ago (missing)

nine-fifteen morning in, ago.
halfway opendoor hallway, waiting.
she, upwardlooking at me.
tearineye no smile and awkwords falling.
she awoken early to say.
darling first and goodbye later.
first-time cityleaving, feeling heavy.
nother interrupter stopby, meeting.
loveinversion not on horizon then.
halfway hallway, open door, foot in.
closeddoor kiss, morning softer then.
goodhair smell, tastewet tongue.
missing, betterknowing, wishful.
wistful person, even now evening in.
now summerbeach town and empty bed.
empty summerbeach calls no names.
yorkmissing now, and every one in it.

poem on the back of a chinese menu on a saturday afternoon in washington square park

the blackbird breathes your sootsoaked air,
flying in twisted diagonals beneath the greenest
trees comprising your inimitable beauty.
the pigeon pushes pink feet to red brick with
hardened tufts of grass springing up between.
the humans seem happier here; there is one
who can be seen slowdancing to your silent song,
seemingly entranced until, stepping aside, stops.
the square sings soft, subtle lullabies, and those
who are lucky are lucky enough to hear them.

yorkleaving

eightfortyfive goodbye wave, outside,
glancedback tearineye smile; watcher
at window lifted fingers in response: last
of them, but for him. nother non
company kept, nineohfive laughing
sighed: goodbye. me-and-he then, to-
get-
her came tenfifteen some mo(u)rning
yearagone, leavetaking now: different.
first ninetwenty failcatch train, afraid,
on purpose. person one, persons
two, personal, wordless. foodfed yet
full—killclock, sinkingpit stomach. wit’s
end. fourthirteenseventhirtytwoohonepast-
midnight when everything placefallen
into: sad, so soon after. tenohtwo train
on, he fell sleepdead, i awake. uppicked by
one unbegun: envy, undersurf. yorkleaving
difficult, insecure, broken. spokenwords fail.