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Ripped, Severed, Broken. . . .
Times Such As These. . . I lock up the room and pocket the last remnants of words laying about unattended. Fearful that pieces of my heart may be found scattered among them. And why not? Times such as these leave us with little salve to heal the open wounds which once were hearts. For…
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Lean on Me. . . .
Lean On Me. . . Lean, love, lean on me and rest your tired heart. Let me rescue you out of a dream and allow you to awaken in a world of choice. Bend to me, as the willow to the wand, as the lily grips the water to float. I have time enough and…
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The Past Is Still Happening. . .
Journal entry of November 3, 1983—(keep in mind I work with all time is simultaneous, a quantum premise, though I did not know it at the time when 35 years ago I was into black holes and white holes where this entry picks up) . . I scribed. . .It is no small thing when…
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So Much To Be Said. . . .
So Much To Be Said. . . You say, So much to be said. To take a hammer to a word and splinter it. . .what’s to be gained? I say, Where is the meaning if you don’t? You say, Let everyone take what is theirs and build on it.…
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When Love Was Rampant . . .
When Love Was Rampant. . . The bones creek and there is lack of motion because like the deep freeze enveloping the lakes, the skeleton is immobile. The comforter wraps around bony knees and hugs my chest while eucalyptus bathes what is left of my senses. The scent is clearly reminiscent of a…
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A sorrow hushed. . . the holocaust. . .
A sorrow hushed. . . the holocaust. . . My ears cleaved to the door frame of the dining room. Her whisper was hoarse, were there many? Lots, he said, lots, as he held the letter that told him what they saw. Speaking in broken English, he continued. They pushed for space, women…
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An Evergreen For Your Heart. . .
(I falter dreadfully. There was more violence in a school this week. I say that I will make another ocean with tears that do not stop. I cannot write nor put up a heart with a rip up the middle again. Cannot sew it up again. Then I read that someone pulled up a bygone…
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To The Old Country. . . immigrant I am. . .
Immigrant . . . I watched as you worked a mind through endless turmoil, sifting and sorting truth and fantasy and arriving. . . You opened eyes and unblinkingly stated, ‘you have always known, haven’t you? How did you do it?’ I knew I could not take even a moment of self revelation away,…
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I Wish It For You. . .
There comes that time when night falls unto itself and one says I call it a day. It is time for the night air to wrap us in its ambience and for us to taste of its elixir. It is when memories are called upon that feed the soul when lives were their richest in…
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The Mortgaged Soul. . .
Taking Time. . . You say that it takes all your time to do what it is you do. And you are the only person who can speak from that point of knowledge knowing what is required. But we were all born doing reference work in the Talmud which teaches that the purpose of life…