A MARRIAGE OF SORTS

He lives with his x wife and he hasn’t got a life
He’s lonely, he’s hurt, on the edge of despair
waiting for love on the brink of nowhere
his x wife sleeps in the room next to his
she’s a survivor, a mother, his x lover, his cover

They lived apart for over ten years
Symbiosis renewed through dependency and fear
He’s scared she’ll die from the
breast cancer she survived
So he suffers her abuse, pays all the bills,

And claims he’s very fond of her
She eats his guilt like a gourmet queen
And she don’t think she’s being mean
He’s promised he’ll never leave her
between a stone and a hard rock

They are their parents reborn,
drowning in self defeating,
narcissistic attitudes
Their daughter left home a long time ago
gave up waiting for the promised abode

when mom moved in to dad’s home
claiming she wasn’t staying too long
It’s a marriage of sorts, you would agree
In spite of their self imposed celibacy
existing in the wastelands of mediocrity

Nourished by chronic dissatisfaction and
occasional knock down, drag out fights
where they they put each other down
But he still craves companionship,
a friend to share things with

Someone to reciprocate
Poor man’s worried it’s just too late
He tells me he’s lonely, he’s blue
he doesn’t know what he should do
He’s the man without a life who lives

With the woman who’s now his x wife
And his life collects nothing but strife
Disaster breathes down his neck
like spastic storm creating wreck
He’s imprisoned by guilt tying him
to obligations of household drudgery

Imprisoned by fear about being alone
he wants someone to hold, to put his arms around
Someone to see a movie and eat dinner with ...
And that’s not all, ... he told me to ask you
Are there any takers here for my friend
the man who hasn’t got a life?
Or better yet, just take his x-wife!

ALIEN PLANET OF LESBIAN LOVERS

SHE lived under the delusion that SHE was the Queened Princess of an Alien Planet of Lesbian Lovers. All the rules SHE lived by and all her behavioral responses provided evidence of this. Much of my life centered on helping her live out this fantasy, painful as it was to me. Besides, my Catholic guilt forced me to accept the proposition that sacrifice nourishes and purifies our soul.

Still, I was not so locked into my servitude that all other devotions were excluded. I met Sue May as I was attempting to crawl from the claws of the newly crowned Queen from the Planet of Lesbian Lovers. But I kept losing energy in my battle to escape. When I came upon a new route, the Queen would crack her whip, blocking me. I could not break through.

I was lost in the spheres locked between fear, time, and oblivion when I met Sue May on the F train. I was carrying my sports jacket, an attaché case and a shopping bag while balancing a coke in one hand and my shades in the other. I sat down next to Sue May, also known as, The Speaker From The House of Discreet Charm, and proceeded to reorganize myself. My jacket slipped from my hands and I gripped it tightly to prevent its fall. As I grabbed it to crush it closer, I heard a highly toned, cultured voice, "exx, exxcuse me."

I turned and looked her in the eye, "God," I exclaimed, catching sight of my hand clutching her knee in my peripheral vision. "Sorry, I thought that was my jacket." SHE smiled the way Speakers from that House do, completely disarming me, compelling me to do her will. So I offered her an early dinner, as SHE was wont to do.

Sue Mai thought SHE was Speaker of the House of Representatives from a small mid-western state where manners meant everything. The Speakers from this house pretended to live in a time when discreet words and charm, and all behavioral nuances were aimed at serving the vast quantities of man's needs.

YES! But behind that sweetly beckoning smiling face, and in perfect rhythm, was the firm grasp of her delicate hand. It was hard to see that Sue Mai possessed the same determined sharp focus of energy as the Queened Princess. And I realize now, that both were bent on making the world, and especially me, think of nothing else, but meeting their needs. At the time I never realized this. I don't mean that the thought never entered my mind that I was allowing them to control me.

But of course now in retrospect, I realize that I have realized this many times. But then, I was just so much Under the Influence. I have always lived Under the Influence. It's that way because I have always loved women, holding them in the highest regard. And I kept searching for the one for me. Not just the one for me, you understand, but the one who would save me from the Queened Princess and serve my needs.

Now I had the Newly Crowned, Queen Princess from the Alien Planet of Lesbian lovers in conflict with Sweet Sue May, Speaker from the House on Discreet Charms befitting maidens from places like Kentucky and Tennessee. Sad to say, they couldn't get along at all. There was just too much conflict of interest. Both were invested in controlling my subconscious.

For the Lesbian Queen, I preformed sacrifice upon sacrifice, submitting to her will, making her wish my command. I lived under her delusion that this would provide peace to her Alien Planet of Lesbian Lovers and to me.

Meanwhile my sweet and tame Sue May exerted her control by doling out her loving commands, their sole purpose to provide her pleasure. I devotedly applied myself to make her every wish my command.

All for naught. Between the two, there was no respite. The Queen and The Speaker hated each other. But the truth was, that didn't matter. What did matter was, that ultimately, between the two, I was left with no energy to serve myself.

so much to do

I've been thinking, there's tons of writing on my computer, some for years that I've never shared. I'd like to post some of that stuff too and will begin tonight with one piece.

MORE ON JESUS ND BEING JEWISH

Am I proud to be jewish -
I am and I’m not,
I don’t know I guess

I’m proud of being jewish
because being jewish means
to be educated & literary
in certain circles,
you know what I mean
I know they had tough jews
my father sat on the cusp of that realm
on the outskirts of the jewish mafia

nd ... I suppose...I’m as liberated -
nd as free as one would want to be
or can imagine to be in this society
or any other, again, I suppose
But you asked me
Am I proud to be a jew

I am but when people make disparaging remarks
such as jews are cheap
or you killed jesus
jesus please forgive me;
I wasn’t born yet to suffer for ur sins

so I ask you; if jesus died for ur sins
then forgive me please
and if he died for mine
forgive me again please
but remember jesus is my forefather
and I do follow his path
being an upstart and all
runs in my family
saying what I mean, and doing what I say -
follows jesus also and is why he died for our sins
Isn’t it?

Jesus was an upstart and so am I
our big and honest mouths get us in trouble
So much time wasted arguing & fussing
when we’re all visitors here of our own demise.

is the world going crazy or is it me

If you don’t stop asking so many questions
I could begin to think you’re a cop
I can’t think up the answers that fast,
Are you the prosecution or what
Do you want answers to your questions
Stop looking into my eyes so deep
What are you trying to see
I’m trying to see the I in you
It may be the same as the I in I
Can’t you see I’m trying to bring something to fruition
And it only takes some more preparation
I’m searching for direction
It’s making a huge impression on me
How many decisions did you say I have to make
No, I’m a grown woman I don’t need permission
I don’t care about your trepidation
I’m searching for liberation
Haven’t found it anywhere
It’s not as clear as it used to be
I thought I was so aware
It isn’t always fair either
Too many discussions
Deliberations on the same old themes
Wars & losses, poverty and gasoline prices
Dresses & designers, writers & artists
Vacations & lives, returning home again
Our time and space is limited,
We’re here on this earth to enjoy life do
What we can, our minds so full of clutter
the glimmer the shimmer outside
draws in to the glow
mostly it’s all show
sometimes we can’t see what’s right in front of us
I couldn’t see that book that’s clearly right
There on the bookshelf where you left it before
after we looked and looked;
neither of us could see that book right there on the shelf
right there on the shelf
looked once then twice we saw nothing
Looking through the glass pane window
Should I should go in or wait out here
Alone in the rain of my life
The drops glistening on my skin
Should I join the crowd inside
Watching diamonds in the rough
Watching is never enough
I’ma go rearrange the universe
give me a moment or two

A Freudian Slip ...

Do you suppose - it’s an accidentally on purpose mistake - a Freudian slip? Do you want to throw rocks or count sins, and then who’s will you count first, yours or mine?
Inadvertently 5 years of saved emails were erased. I can’t understand how these things happen in our cyber world lives. I use a convenient excuse. It happened as a side effect from my most recent software upgrade. These upgrades appear while I’m on the computer no matter what I’m doing. Soft grade available here for your computer. Click here for more information or to upgrade now - I’m instructed.
As the result of my last upgrade, my computer desktop divides itself into pretty little pixilated boxes, slowly disappearing as I click on various parts of a document, website or photos, so I can finally get my desktop back. You see how far this has progressed that the computer screen has become my virtual desktop and is where I store everything. As I click on the pixilated boxes, my document slowly appears like magic out of nowhere.
Now do you think it’s inadvertently or purposefully that I’ve deleted emails stretching back over 5 years. They have sublimely and subliminally disappeared forever, gone in a millimeter flash of one second, 5 years of stored memories. In my universe my mails have disappeared from society’s grip.
I want the solace of a moment of silence, a reprieve from the stampede of your judgments stalling my way. Do you think that’s why I tossed them coincidentally, transcendentally removing the spirit of lost words to whence they come?
Yo, it’s rough on a sister out here. My neighbor says to me as I pass her by, “Nice to see you. People don’t make their judgments of important life events on temporary situations.”
“Good to see you too,” I said. “I’m so glad it’s an existential society.”
“What?” she said, mouth agape.
“You know,” I said, “we have the power to recreate ourselves continuously.”
“Oh," she said, I don’t get it, your life is so unreal to me, like a story.”
“I know, I said, “I’m so blessed to be living it.”
“People were different back in my day,” she said authoritatively.
“So glad to have entertained you,” I said making my way back into my lonely apartment hiding space.
I am back to my original thesis; do you think I deleted 5 years of emails accidentally on purpose? I feel like I’ve erased 5 years of my prior life. And really, don’t tell me. Is it that easy? Don’t be offended now when you say to me don’t you remember and I tell you I no longer remember some long forgotten email I’d previously valued which is now destroyed and only exists in some alternate cyber universe.

LET ME INVADE YOU

People grope at the shaman in me My eyes mirror yours I interpret your feelings into words Words you can’t say emerge from me Give me your hand to make the pain go away Don’t get scared when you see what I do Mostly I put me in your shoes Your feelings resonate and jive with me I absorb & neutralize your negativity Filtered by a pure white light to glimpse the other side of a long winding tunnel I seek out the gory of your story like a vampire devouring blood Those in need find me I’m there for the taking I know your story instinctively You pretend you’re hunky dory but I see you Compulsively grasp your inner need It’s all transitory anyway Let me provide shelter from the storm Peace, freedom from anxiety Let me invade your dreams, your psyche Relieve you from burning sensations, the flame inside I can heal you … invade the space inside you ~ your solitude, Heal your inner glow your flow Make you drowsy, thirsty for my spell You’ll be healed by my garden of secrets if you let me touch you I will heal your wounds, the sound as My energy courses through your veins the holiness of the moment we embrace Harmony fills the empty space Replaces your resistance Let me heal you with my inner light Nuture your might to get it right I can’t resist your grasp, your pull I will help you…

SPOT OF BLEACH

This dress is older than my son
5 years older, to be exact.
I bought it from the Indian shop
down by Columbia University,
made of light cotton muslin
nicely fitted about my waist
a bright fuchsia, opaque
my body outlined in the sun
falling gracefully from my hips,
down my big legs.

A spot of bleach fell on that dress today
leaving a white spot in its fuchsia wake
That dress reminds me of Sharon
who had more than I ever had
or ever needed, or could even dream existed
And I had been around, she less than me
But she was more widely traveled
in more fortunate circles than me

Still, I thought she was my friend
even when she said, “I can’t help it,
I’m jealous of you in that dress!”
“Why?” I said, “You have so much more
than I could ever hope for or dream of ...”

“It doesn’t make sense,” she responded,
“Somehow, you look prettier than I,
even though you’re not as slim,
as tall, as Anglo,
as cultured, as educated as I
I can’t figure out
why you look prettier than I”

Sharon, whose tarot cards I read,
two dark knights appearing ahead
one reversed, whose pursuits
I told her to reject

Sharon, whose need for company I met
at 3 a.m. while my husband coughed
bitterly in the room next to mine
when she refused to go home

Sharon, who told her tales of woe
about her latest love, her foes,
her rape when she left N.Y. for Florida
and returned to seek my solace
I thought she was my friend.

A spot of bleach fell on this dress today
Still I don’t wish to let it go
Perhaps a crocheted flower
will cover that bleached out spot
I could just throw that old dress out
I wish I could my memories
that cling like the smell of death

And I wonder if that’s how long
it takes to let go
Why even when we begin anew
the old never lets go ...
Miles of old lives travel within
our thin, threadbared own

I DONT' GET IT

If one was well enough to do everything that one needed to do to get the relief that one needed, then one wouldn’t need the help that one was attempting to get in the first place, would he?
Life is a Catch 22 of the universe.
He said, “I don’t understand why you keep on helping him.”
“I want to,” I said, “It’s a feeling I have to want to. What difference does it make to you?”
Meanwhile we waste time on bullshit. Suddenly it hits me how controlled our lives are. What served as warnings years ago has now come into play. We ignored the critics of our forefathers back in the day.
We’re tracked by GPS. Our cell phones and our credit cards are tracked. Their usage tallied and compiled daily. We’re forced to pay more than our share of taxes while the Masonry lead our government, their symbols lurking everywhere. Taxes were never meant for the small working class man like you and me, yet we pay our taxes every day, day after day.
Some refuse to see the small insidious ways we’re controlled by society and our jobs our families, our conscience which finally takes their place.
Now even Facebook and MySpace take charge and overwhelm me with enough rules to spin my head. Either I add too many or too little friends. They have trouble deciding. I’d think that adding friends would be a boon but Facebook and MySpace employees become dictators in another virtual reality.
It becomes more and more difficult to understand the world I’m living in.

INFATUATION

He’s an infaturation
a soft warm breeze
blowing by and maybe
now my husband blurts out
you want to hear
everything he says

then continues in his
rapid staccato speech
maybe now it all
seems so interesting
an interruption
in the flow of your life

Later, my husband adds
on to his diatribe, and tells
me I will tire of all the new
things my new love confides
which now make me feel so good

After all, he said, you’re tired
of your best friend’s shit
and everyone else’s
I replied, yeah I guess so
So I’ll probably get tired
of him too after 30 years or so

You know what I mean
he says, smirking in
response to my smirk
you’d be happy too
if Billy Collins made
you his protege

Yes I would I said
But I’m not Billy Collins