36

One more year in verse.

/ This thing on? /

It has been a year.

Since I've spoken to someone.

I didn't already know.

/ General notice /

Building managers

Across five continents

Have one thing in common:

Stop throwing your cigarette butts

From the damn balcony!

/ Just one more turn /

Life after a good dream:

Searching your memory

For more fragments.

/ A luddite's lullaby /

It's one of those mornings 

When they're mowing the grass

In my yard.

What wouldn't I pay them

To switch back to scythes...

/ Good morning /

They had a wedding yesterday

In my hotel

And now are having breakfast

Right behind this door —

Or that one?

Likely, naked.

/ Immortality / 

Looking at you sleep

Makes me want to live forever

And never lose you.

/ Also applies to months /

Some days are made

for the observer.

Some days don't get you

five lines.

... [But you can always cheat.]

/ Orion /

I'm back.

And the faithful stars of Orion

Have missed me,

Sending hounds to all corners of Southern sky,

But my tracks led them nowhere,

And night after night they returned

Having sensed not a whiff of their quarry.

Days turned to months

And he no longer looked up

As they snuck back in in the morning,

Knowing another chase had been fruitless.

Why else the sad tails and those droopy ears —

Would the months turn to years?

He dared not ask the question,

But waited. And waited.

And just when he first thought to stop:

A drop of crystal, a new little star

Turned into a cigar of aluminum,

Filled with imported light,

Crossed his heart in the night,

And, just like that,

Spat me out on the ground.

Back to the place where I found him once,

Over my balcony

Those four years ago.

/ Welcome back, commander /

My winter number four,

So easy to step back in,

Like the slippers of the locals.

/ Tin Man /

The silent breath of this house

Reveals its structure:

Ducts and vents

Carrying air

Like the arteries

Of a tin man,

Muscles of concrete,

Skin of glass.

He stands so tall,

Doing what he does best,

What he was called for:

Towering.

/ 47 /

Falling from such a height, 

Does one get enough time

To reconcile with the fact?

/ Things to do in the desert /

1/

Go up on a sand dune.

Choose one

With no footprints,

Save those left behind.

2/

Look the other way

While everyone's watching the sunset:

See the slow crawl of purple

Upon the sands

Behind their backs.

3/

Leave your loved ones behind

And walk away slowly

Along the crests.

4/

Find a place

Where you are alone

With the fiery dish

And watch Helium drop

Below ground

As your face of the planet

Rotates towards the skies of Orion.

5/

Lie on the ground,

An ancient beached human

So far away from the sea,

And wait for the onset of stars.

/ Getting there /

Every father thinks

That for all the blood and pain,

It was his upbringing

That brought him here.

The way he was tormented —

Would surely make his children

Stand as tall and proud

As he stands...

But does he now?

/ Voicemail /

Unanswered call — from my granddad,

And each one could be his last.

I've felt this for many winters

But never did he seem so weak

And so bitter and — what was it —

Scared.

Toasting alone to a New Year

Two rooms away from his non-wife,

My grandmother.

Does he feel any love,

That could tie him to this world?

You sure made his achievements

Ring hollow; scorned and forsaken...

Is that his fault alone?

/ D-Day (also: their anniversary) /

And then they wished

— prayed —

They were merely sea-sick,

Back on the "goddamned boat".

/ Routine maintenance /

When you fall in love

Over a smile,

You gotta make sure

They keep smiling.

/ January /

Dubai's soft winter sun

So hard in my eyes,

I see mere outlines

Of the people passing by.

Showers of warmth

Square on my chest.

/ Reading Bukowski (for Jane) /

It is easy to say

Oh, he shouldn’t have drunk

But

People die

Die

And there’s nothing 

You can do about it.

Unless you prepare?

Treat the cold fact

Like winter

That you can’t Dubai:

Lay in supplies

Build routines

That will keep you afloat 

In the end

When when when 

When it comes –

There’s no “if” here,

Except for the chance

That it’s you 

Who goes first

And leaves others to worry

About their drinking. 

/ Moonrise, 3:20 /

I caught the pale

Emaciated moon

Off guard

By staying up too late —

Enough to see her sneak

Back up into the sky

She ruled so splendidly 

Not half a month ago

In all her golden glory.

Look at us now:

A bloodshot-eyed man

On the balcony —

And this, the Cheshire cat's half-smile.

(It does hang rather sideways here, so close to the equator.)

/ JBR, Spring /

I walked out to the beach 

To watch the buildings

Blush behind me

At the disappearing sun — 

And tell the waves 

That no, they cannot catch me.

/ Archaeology of my beard /

It's been ten years, I think,

Since I last spent more than three days

Without at least some stubble on my chin.

So, though it's not exactly bushy,

Still, a little tribe — a small one, granted —

Could have settled one of my cheeks,

Without my noticing;

Explored what lies beyond the jaw-ridge,

Made a quiet war one night

With neighbors from the sideburn —

Screaming silent insults,

Clenching teeth in battle rage

To hide their presence from their host.

Victorious, went further,

Following the Coast of Ear,

To find the vast expanse of back,

So sparsely vegetated,

As to leave no fine oasis for a colony —

And disappeared one day,

Leaving behind naught but a mound

Or two with funerary gifts

And skeletons of tiny horses,

Shards of pottery,

And, here and there, a standing stone

To the frustration of my razors.

/ Summer in the (wrong) city /

The June sun hits me

Like a hammer

Wrapped in the damp cloth

Of humid air.

They told me: oh, don't get us started

On the wind,

It is like being shot

From point-blank range

With a professional blow-drier.

And I didn't quite believe them.

Now I know.

/ Happy Birthday /

I spent an hour 

Cutting white hairs

Out of my beard —

And now I'm that much younger.