Across the Universe

Wednesday Dinner in Curry Hill

There’s something about the way

we sat

at the table

in the Indian restaurant

that made me feel like it’s only

me

and

you

in

the

whole

entire

gigantic

and

immeasurably

infinite

ever expanding

and

ultimately

dying

universe.

 

We finished our meal

and I turned my torso slightly to the left–

I was then able to rest my left shoulder and some of my back on the wall next to me.

Facing out towards Lexington avenue

allowed me to navigate my gaze intermittently between you

and our conversation

and the fashionable

passersby–

my casual view of the citizens of New York

was restricted by the

“A” grade sign

and the 2007 Times article

and the overlapping menu

of mostly South, but some North

Indian Cuisine.

Our chai came

and my tongue was already too burnt to sip anymore,

but I sipped anyway

until I was almost done

and then

we

paid our bill

and

went

 

Home.

Me and the Little Sis

This photo belongs to Boris. Check out his blog by clicking on the pic.

Under the Full Moon

Aged and silent cavity

how I long to be pulled from your extremity

skeletal demise

becomes unity

dancing on the grave

of

captivity.

 

What has weathered the cost to sit by your glass feet?

 

A long, gray coat disappears

under the full moon

and I wish

to be in your womb

once again.

South Beach

Visiting my family in Staten Island.

This photo belongs to Boris. Check out his blog by clicking on the pic.

Everything Would Be All Right

I stood in the hospital room

staring at my father

hold my sister’s son—

my nephew—

and a silent wave washed over me

the one Whitman talks about

in which we realize we’re

all connected over time through

life’s great events we share.

the collective unconscious

suddenly came to the forefront

and in a fragmented yet fiery flash

I saw myself and my

mother at a young age

doing the things that

young daughters and mothers

do—

and then fast forward to

me becoming you

and you becoming them—

In this sudden moment the distance became so close

That everything—

everything—

heart-achingly

was so, so beautiful and I knew then

that everything would be all right.

Underground

This photo belongs to Boris. Check out his blog by clicking on the pic.

Not Really Hungry

I took the ancient medicine

on a full stomach

and I immediately became ill.

My stomach rumbled with nausea

and my head split in two–

a headache.

I decided to rest my head on  your shoulder

instantly feeling the psychic connection 

we always had.

You said, “Close your eyes”

I did

and disappeared for a while in the

universal abyss

but the drum beat was too

fast

and the geometric shapes in my mind

shifted too quickly–

so I had to leave

I had to open my eyes

to remain grounded

at least in THIS reality.

I could hear Casique

say

“… and some purge…”

Up to the bathroom I went–

And so familar 

2 fingers at the back 

of the throat

and thought–

It has been so long

since I’ve been here

facing the toilet seat and

yet

the perspective has changed.

I’m not sick 

from alcohol or drugs

but purging

healing

Removing

what needs

removing.

And the medicine taught me

this lesson

that I have changed

that I needed to take her

to see how much I’ve grown–

And to not eat a piece of broccoli just because it’s there…

when I’m really

not

hungry.

The Universal Classroom

Dandelion butterflies

glisten in the afternoon sunlight.

A vision in my mind

reminds me of the field scene in 1984.

A dark, secret place

separate from civilization

where shadows meet

torsos lay

heads disappear

and tall green grass protects.

I can’t see your face

or your face

and he wants it that way.

Red and white checkered shirts

shift

And denim jeans remain

untouched

in a snapshot of literary genius.

In the universal classroom

I see minds grasping

but only a few

will find

true

meaning.

Up Their Lazy Ass

Writing poetry should not be a chore

but I find myself

waiting until the last second

to get my thoughts down on paper.

I wait

until I see you

posting

photograph

after

black and white

photograph

And exclaim–

“I have 100 likes”–

while I barely

cracked the 50 mark

even with a 3 year old blog

And

don’t get me wrong–

this isn’t jealousy or envy

or insecurity

But a nail in

the collective

word coffin.

No one likes

a halfway

decent poem

and many would rather

continue to click

the visual stick

up their

lazy, wordless

ass.