Every once in a while | when I’m not busy trying to adapt— | i.e. find an air filter that won’t make me sick | scrub the dryer with vinegar to get the Bounce out
saying no
read more
Word
sabbath
you forgot that it was possible | too bogged down in the myth of industriousness | to value broken | how certain artists make ordinary beauty from their shame
January 2006
you are in the middle of | a transformational process | she said | which began 24 human months ago | does that mean it’ll end and if so how | there are no guarantees | I told my almost lover | it was cold by the window | and he walked away I wanted to too | but where would I go
Infiltration
Driving down the canyon, sun slanted, squinting, listening to Joan Didion talk about her faith, it occurs to me: this is not death, this is moving on. I repeat it over and over, never having learned this before,
about faith
1. Shana Tova. How has it been? he asks, | the beautiful man with the sad eyes who I see each year | on this day, in the same spot, his tallis on his | shoulders, his white kipah covering his head. | Rough, I say.
RECENTLY ADDED
