and you will stand from the other end
of the line,–

where the words are disintegrating
where the transience is becoming the only meaning
for the unsaid.

and I will write you my invocations,
avoiding periods at the end
of the sentences.


étude #12

indulged in solace
for all the missed opportunities
to pry into the moment
when your reality slips
between the fingers.

you’re standing on your knees

(a platitude)

and delving with the tin spoon
in the pile
of dust and the glass shatters.

a sand clock.

that sand clock
that you squeezed too hard
in the delirium,
was measuring the time
until you’ll love.


eternal #15/a lullaby

a bicycle ride,
occasionally changing lanes.

a nameless blood cell
in the pulsating vein.

adrenaline shots on the tab,
maneuvers between the taxis.

a sperm in the fallopian tube,
is wandering in vain.

it is not about you,
it is also not about me.

late night arguments, –
a prolix

of the honking cars
on the avenues of New York.

a multistory living,
confined by the curbs.

it is almost a midnight,
the skyline is the new milky way.

angels are watching over
the traffic on a highway.

go to sleep.

metamorphosis #2 / a mermaid

in the evenings
she was coming home
peeling off the fish scales,
spawned on her skin
by the thousands looks
that she reaped
during the day.

every day.

they pay.

in the mornings
she was wearing her mermaid tail
and swimming away.
to harvest more scales,
because they’ll pay.

one night,
he picked up her tail.
and burned it
in the chimney,
like in that old tale.

next morning
she didn’t find her mermaid clad,
turned into bird of paradise
and flew away;

and never got back.

a poet

one thing leads to another, and then it doesn’t“, Marvin Wildstein . – April 3rd. 2015

we never knew each other, poet.
and poems you have published before, I also never read.

I was fixing the stubborn peg
on your modest pine casket, poet.
(this is how we met).

“leave, the soil will fix it all”, the cemetery worker, said.
I guess, while he was working here,
he also became a poet.