No need for watches
it is the era of water
and fire now

Come, flow your holy longing
Add your exquisite burn

Desire’s rising
and cannot be defeated

No matter how many
old mountains
they erect

No matter what elegant forms
of denial
they set upon the altar

The statues are crumbling into the water
the pedestals are empty
and the shorelines are shape-shifting

Throw everydamnthing
on the compost heap
and lend your wild eros
defiantly abundant

The ushers are here
but do not take your seat
for the theater is burning down

Stand up and dive
into the unrivaled and berippled
of the new dreams

Or: join the rotten rubble
of the river’s bend

We’re going to freedom sea
with or without you


Fire Night with Turtle, Fox, and Serpent

http _farm4.staticflickr.com_3518_4006330354_5bbd07f38b_o_dTurtle, Fox, and Serpent were hanging around the fire one night under a pitch-black sky.

Turtle, feeling small under the incomprehensible vastness of the the cosmos, gazed into the fire and said, “We’re all alone.”

Fox, seeing the reflections of the fire’s flames dance on her partners’ faces and the branches of the hemlock trees above, proclaimed matter-of-factly, “We’re all in this together.”

Serpent slithered over to Turtle, down to his level, flicking his tongue and locking eyes with him. Turtle’s pulse quickened. Just as intensely, Serpent slithered under Fox’s belly, then above, until finally rising above the fire, his form seeming to grow bigger and wider.

After along intense pause, Serpent declared…”Yep.”

Soar Your Southern Bird at Dawn

soaring birds at dawn“Descend the western gorge at night
and soar your southern bird at dawn
pitch your poem in northern sky
before the blessed day is gone.” – Umbrano

According to scholars, this enigmatic epitaph was thought to have been written by the forest monk variously called Umbrano or Umbra Minor, in the hills surrounding Rome in the 3rd century B.C.E.  Dated to the spring of either 286 or 287 B.C.E., during what is considered his annus mirabilis (wondrous year), it is one of 999 poems he purportedly composed in Aduana, one of several pre-Latin languages.

Local uncivilized people considered him to be a rainbow wizard or mud magi of sorts, and bestowed the name Magi Arcus Iris upon him (Ijana Oma in Aduana). This epitaph was engraved on his tombstone.

(NOTE: None of this is factually true. All of it is mythically true)

Cafe Sin Leche

I stole the wife of an ugly Zoroastrian.p-heart_big

No, that’s not fair on two accounts:

First, he wasn’t ugly.  I’m sure Aysha’s husband Farzeen is good looking to many women.   In fact, he had an olive complexion and stood tall with dark eyes. Add the fact that he was wealthy, successful, and respected in his field and he probably was quite the catch.

Second, we never “steal” another.  I’m sure that is what he would say about me, but deep down we all know that’s not what happens.  Here’s what happened:

We collided.  Aysha and I collided.

Really that’s it, nothing more.  Take it for what it’s worth.  People collide, something either mysterious happens or nothing happens, really nothing in between.  We fell into each other’s worlds as soon as our eyes met, that teasing energetic eye electricity just below the level of consciousness.

Is it possible to see someone crying when they’re not crying, laughing when they aren’t laughing, loving when they’re not loving, and understanding the world when they are just sipping their damn water or picking things off their pizza?

I thought she was from India, which shows you how much I know.  She was from Turkey.  Her husband was from Iran.  They had moved to San Francisco several years ago. That was just after what I now call Act One of what was then merely a drama blindly unfolding. Continue reading

Strange Easter

I was up too early this morning, awoken by the strange sound and technicolor tinge of a broken neighborhood. Cave_of_Adullam_tb_n021900I decided to walk through my backyard down to the cave. It was cold, like hace frio de puta madre cold! Especially because I forgot to put on my socks, and the grass was crunchy from frost instead of dewy, like a wife.

I stumbled down to the cave so early in the morning because that’s where I keep my bunnies. Though the bunnies aren’t really mine; they’re contracted. The bunnies lay all the jelly beans and colored eggs I need for this time of year. My plan was to hide jelly beans for the neighborhood kids and homeless and the colored eggs I was going to sell to the nouveau rich on the streets for $13.50 a pop. And I had well over 50 well-incubated pink and yellow eggs, even a couple purple and green ones, and a rare black one (from the black bunny).

Things didn’t go as planned. When I got to the cave the large boulder covering the entrance was removed. Whoa, tell me what’s-a-happenin’!. I wondered to myself whether I forgot to close the cave the previous night.

But then I remembered I had been at a naked roller-derby expo and hadn’t rolled in until late. But then how did my bunnies move such a large boulder?

I went inside the cave and the bunnies were gone! Not even a trace of fur! I immediately went back inside and picked up the phone to dial 1-800-Lost-My-Bunny, but I could barely speak because I then noticed the tapestry hanging on the wall that I bought in India was torn in two.  That was definitely a sign.

I dropped the receiver, looked out the window. Day had turned to night and I could just barely hear the voice on the line, “Can you please hold…estimated hold time is…4…minutes.”

I didn’t want to wait that long, so I hung up.


I grabbed the phone again. It wasn’t dial-a-lost-bunny, but someone slightly more important: my cousin in Oklahoma. He said there had been sightings of bunnies all over the countryside and the bunnies were surrounded by a faint light and music. People were saying “They have come; They have risen!”

I was shocked and I had to ask, “Well, tell me, what kind of music?”

And he said, “Some say disco, but I swear I heard sitars and tamblas.”


I told him about how my Easter plans had gone awry, about the crunchy grass and boulder and the empty cave and the torn tapestry. “You don’t think that possibly…” I began.

But we didn’t want to think the impossible. We both were quite creeped out. But since I was tired and day had turned to night, all I wanted to do was to crawl back into bed. I knew I wasn’t going to be selling colored eggs today anyway.

“Well, cuz, I’m gonna catch some sleep. Let me know if you hear anything else about those bunnies.”

I put on some socks and climbed into bed hearing sitars and thinking, I’ll fix that tapestry tomorrow.

“Everything is So Fleeting…”

“Everything is so fleeting…”

This thought stabbed me as life drained slowly away.

It’s quite surprising what goes through your mind as your blood pools and collects around the shards of glass lying within your crooked gaps on the wet concrete.  Things like, “I wonder what would have happened if I would have been a dentist?”

And “I wanted to at least tell her I loved her.”

And “If I were to raise dogs, I’d raise miniature schnauzers—no, schnauzers of all kinds,”

And “You know what sounds good right now? A grilled cheese sandwich.”

It’s not what you would think, that whole review of one’s life.  I only recall one such episode presenting itself vividly before my mind.  I was jumping off a bridge.  I must have been 9-10 years old.  I was happy. Carefree and happy.  I wore bright red shorts and no shirt and the bridge must have been only 5 or 6 feet high over a small creek but it seemed so high because I was afraid…and exhilarated.  I don’t know why I saw it in 3rd person.  It was like I had a telescope from afar zooming in on my own childhood fun, but I remembered it so vividly that moment.

If you were a bus driver maybe you would crash and crack your skull and if you were a mountain climber there is a good chance you would freeze to death or fall in a crevasse.  But for the rest of us, it’s a question mark, and it won’t be something exotic either.

“No one knows how it will come, it’s NEVER WHAT YOU EXPECT,” I thought.

But all the other thoughts were questions like “I wonder when the last time was when I had my mom’s peanut butter cookies?” and “I hope they forgive me for dying like this.”

Then I might have let out a chuckle.

The last thing that passed into my consciousness before darkness conquered me was:

“Did they kill me because I fell in love or because I told the truth?”