JERUSALEM

Golden stones soiled from centuries
of sandals trodding,
flat and smooth underfoot
as I walk down the Rova.

I stop for falafel, hot
and greasy like hoods
of shining cars parked in dusty
streets outside the Old City.

dirty, gorgeous, soaked
in the stench of freshly dyed leathers,
cow carcasses hanging from hooks
and pita with zaatar, all available

in the cramped shuk.
Loud voices negotiate
for goods instead of territories.
I buy a hookah for twenty shekels and stuff
it in my bag out of respect
for the crowds returning
From the Wall.

I DIDN'T GET ANY SLEEP LAST NIGHT

I didn't get any sleep last night.
The notion of eating disgusts me.
It's clear that my brain isn't working quite right,
But, then again, why would it be?

My heart is a muscle I can't relax.
It takes up too much space in my chest.
There's no room for breathing so my lungs just go slack.
Man, isn't depression the best?

At least this time I'm a functional nut.
At least I'm getting my work done.
At least that's one thing to be grateful for but
It's hardly what I would call fun.

Hats off to me and my success!
I'm too old now to expect any less.

I DON'T LIVE HERE ANYMORE

I don’t live here anymore.
The wooden box with the green velvet lining is empty –
I wonder what you’ll use it for,

whose trinkets you’ll someday store
in place of my costume jewelry.
I don’t live here anymore.

And the drum I bought you, though I was poor –
you never played it for me.
I wonder what you’ll use it for.

You’ll collect my hairs when you sweep the bedroom floor
and toss them, along with all our history.
I don’t live here anymore.

You’ll loan my makeup remover wipes to some drunk whore,
though you promised only I could go barefaced here.
I wonder what you’ll use her for.

You have no use for me anymore,
just for the right side of the bed’s vacancy.
I don’t live here anymore.
I wonder what you used me for.

OH, NUTS

Oh, nuts (honey roasted)
the Pakistani man sells
from a cart on Forty-ninth and Broadway,
my nose cannot resist your fragrant scent.

To eat you is nothing but disappointment.

THERE ARE NO EAGLES OR MOUNTAINS

The weight or a weapon – which is it?
Love Can Move Mountains but Love is
dirty and heavy and comes
with complications not covered in
Love Lifts Us Up Where We Belong.

There are no eagles or mountains
in Love.

There are soft, unwashed bodies draped haphazardly
in flannel sheets whispering bitter
somethings in harsh consonants and lazy,
drawn out syllables and they are just
words that sound important but mean
less than a quiet kiss given out of Guilt.

Guilt is heavy.
Guilt is a weight.
Guilt is the weapon you use
to encourage Love.

HAIKU #1

All that’s good and pure!
In my next life I’ll come back
as a macaroon.

A CASE OF THE MONDAYS

I took the day off, took a walk in the park

tried to go to the Met so I could look at some art

and maybe forget myself but the museum was closed.

I've got nowhere else to go since my feet froze.

I've got a case of the mondays, and I'm feeling pretty bad.

I wish I could talk to you, but I don't want to make you sad.

Will someone please remove my thoughts from my head

and tuck me into a warm and welcome bed?

I need you to understand that I give all I can give,

and I need you to understand that I can't help being sensitive,

and when I cry and get upset, it's not because of anything you did.

I'm just made of weaker stock than either of us wants to admit.