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Where the skin begins, –
hands are talking and lips are drawing
avoiding straight lines
and any meanings,
also

And the soul is hiding
and it listens to the restless heart beating,
and it wants to emerge to the surface,
so it be touched,
also.

a murmuration

enough said.

there is no need to hold my hands in yours, —
they don’t radiate any heat anymore;
and love of your fingers has leaked to the soil
while love of your heart denied the toil.

enough said.

time to reattach the wings.
the attic of your memories is full of eggshells
and dry feces,
nevertheless the nest was always empty.

enough said.

our words have turned into the countless birds.
countless birds into the chaotic flocks.
flocks, — heading North.
they don’t care about those who have fallen asleep.

I’m not your fire-bird,
not even a singing canary,
you’re not my golden cage,
not any longer.

time to reattach the wings.
the Big Flood is coming.

enough said.

​Tres Hermanicas Eran *

Three sisters lived in town, —
two got married;
one had another plans.

I knew her,
she was weaving dandelion circlets
at the dawn
and playing with the orphans in the narrow streets of our town.

She ended up locked inside
in the high tower in the middle of sea,
by her beloved father.

Many tried to had her flesh
or her heart…

They all dead now, but who counts.

Fish food, fish food…

A fish doesn’t discriminate by the bloodline.

Tres hermanicas eran.
a premonition of a war.

a woman is sitting next to me,
she’s preaching about the upcoming Apocalypse.

She turns to the river,
to the clouds to the dormant in this summer heat Brooklyn with her presentment;

I am drinking my beer, —
watching gliding seagulls.

Tres hermanicas eran.

I know their blood is running in my veins,
so as the salt of the sea
and sweat on their skin
under the Mediterranean sun.

They all dead by now,
by a sword or by fire,
by a firing squad
or by the gas.

I know, because I saw
the dandelion crown washed to the beach.

Tres hermanicas eran.

---

• A medieval sephardic love song.

a melancholy #3

While the thick clouds
were raining sulk
down onto the sullen
ground.

Above the thick clouds
the cosmos was raining meteorites
in complete silence.

But nobody could see that.

Jenga

She was carefully removing
a block
after block,
after block.

Then carefully balancing
a block
after block,
after block–
back
on the top.

Progressing up
a year
after year,
after year.

Living her memories
a block
after block,
after block.

Never adding
a block–
new block,
after block.

Till she ran out
of blocks…