August 15, 2008  :: 0 comments

At night, I travel on a dark journey to a mysterious place

Alone, on an ancient train rushing to the other side of the
I sit inside a tomb of ice and fire


struggle to survive, trapped and enclosed in this eerie
smothering space,
where the raw chill of evil bites my face.

Like a captured beast in a cage, I’m a human specimen
on exhibit
in this miniature, moving zoo (for they are watching me),

a frozen cattle car galloping across time and space to

But why? Why are they taking me away today? I’m an
innocent man.
Why must I die?

Hunched over in a dark corner, my feverish body shakes
and shivers. I taste the miasma and gasp for air. And I

a deep fear that assaults and covers me in the windswept
of despair and terror.

Still, I pray to my nameless G-d, Hashem, (The Name)
as I’m
buried alive.
With my faith, I may survive this dark journey
all that waits for me in Chaos,

a dark dimension of many horrific places,
especially one in particular…
a place of ice and fire



August 15, 2008  :: 0 comments

Don’t make me smoke
the sweeping swirls of sky
swallow metallic circles of black air
high above & below

No! Save me from the whirling streaks of man,
which scar the atmosphere

& let me inhale the white universe
& let me breathe

& learn the ways of uncanny nature
& let me sing & resonate
the fiery leaves of Fall
that do not burn

& let me fly with them
on a cool, cathartic path

the forest floor

& drift with them
my multicolored Spirits
we reach
the reddish-brown earth

& let us breathe
& let us be

let us die-no more
let us not give birth-

to disease
Don’t make us smoke the air


July 12, 2008  :: 0 comments

Change is beautiful and frightening, like the Siberian tiger of the
Amur region in the Far East rushing and leaping across the
Waste land,

Strangely familiar and unknown, like the double approaching and
speaking to you in a fluid dream sequence, merging and melting
with the phantasmagoric landscape,

Consuming and destructive, like Count Dracula in the perpetual
night of mist and feral darkness biting and drinking the blood of
his victims,

Expansive and creative, like an invisible sphere of luminosity
exploding into a mammoth ball of fire,

Terrifying and thrilling too, like flat lining and dying and
mysteriously coming back to life,

Change is beautiful and frightening and new.

Change is grotesque like Gregor Samsa’s metamorphosis into a
colossal insect and yet, it is tomorrow’s golden sunrise, when
crepuscular beings rise gloriously at dawn,

observed on the Brooklyn Bridge by travelers trekking across
the majestic expanse or others sitting on the Promenade in
Brooklyn Heights

or strangers at Mallory Square in Key West celebrating an
enchanting sunset by the Gulf of Mexico,

Change is grotesque and grand, beautiful and frightening and new.

Janus-faced, it wears the multicolored and colorless masks of
hope and despair, a container partially filled with blinding
white light, yellow and purple, red and gold,
and gray and black.

Change is grotesque and grand, beautiful and frightening and
new; it is Janus-faced too and yet,
it is being and becoming,

and without it,
there is no life.


July 12, 2008  :: 0 comments

You ask me what I want from life and I say:

A few tears cascade down your cheeks.
Some wet your parched lips.
I taste your tears.

“But there is so much more than I possess.”

“If I can truly love you, I will be free to
love others.”

“Well, they say you’ve got to love yourself
before you can love someone else.”

And so I gaze into my multicolored mirror
speak to the others, bathed in colored lights
or pitch-black darkness.

“Today, I love you-all of you-for a few
minutes, within the sea of contaminated
time, flooded with rage,
but calmed by soothing
waves of colors

& a vision that we are one.”


July 12, 2008  :: 0 comments

I’m traveling on the Road of Dreams. This is my dreamscape if it’s me.
Got to call old Sigmund Freud, a kindred soul, and ask him if it’s me.

Once, I went to the Theater of the Absurd and searched for Truth.
Tried to understand why I’ve suffered so much and if it’s me.

On a dog day afternoon, I walked on the Coney Island Boardwalk,
saw a freak show, watched my ghostly face in the mirror and asked if it’s me.

A woman of beauty, with red flaming hair, danced naked in Central Park.
“I love my man!” she shouted. And I whirled and swirled and asked if it’s me.

The train rushes across the vast Waste Land and a bearded man sleeps.
I’m a Man of the Woods and a Wizard too-if it’s me.


July 4, 2008  :: 0 comments

A rose dancing in the wind-
ripped apart,

severed from its roots in
the dark storm


still dancing in the wind-
unwilling to die,

determined to be-
a homeless rose-

swirling in the storm-
inhaling the

luminosity of soul far away

as it dances in the wind,
releasing the scent
of a dying rose,
and breathing its final
dwindling breaths
but still breathing and dancing
through the wind


into Eternity


July 4, 2008  :: 0 comments

Inner space, outer space,
Spider web, broken mirror,
Fire & light, or earth &
Desert night,

Choose life at the center, or
Death on the fringe
& enter with passion and desire,
Enter the sacred place,
Hidden in inner space.

Red room, blue room, enter
Through the red room; inside,
Outside, & sitting in the blue

Overdose-crackling gloom,
Broken window, lethal visions,
Broken door,

Ghostly man & someone died
Sitting in the dark, a tomb in
Outer space, invisible in the
Human room.

Inner space, outer space,
Broken mirror,
Looking in/out,
No one’s there,


July 4, 2008  :: 0 comments

The young father and son run along the pristine beach,
stopping at times to taste the turquoise ocean &

to play within the magical kingdom of holy water,

splashing and anointing each other &
dancing through the rising waves

that reach up toward the majestic sky.

It is a perfect dog day afternoon and later,
Father and son will lie on the sprawling sand,

feasting on love and baking in the brutal gentle sun.

To end the day, they rush off to Mallory Square in Key West
Florida to watch the miraculous sunset.

A perfect day, indeed. But it is Yesterday, decades ago.

Today, the old young man rushes slowly through the labyrinth of
his soul and tries to recapture that precious day. He meanders through

the surreal landscape.

Yet he can’t find his son. Of course, the dead can’t speak to us. Can they?
He hears a distant voice whisper:

“I love you, Daddy!”

Silently, he screams: “Hello, son.”
With his boy nestled in his soul, he saunters off to

Mallory Square to watch a golden sunset.