it seems to me
that breathing deeply
and counting to ten
just gives them
another opportunity
to irritate me
even more

an all purpose cleaner response to the

how-ya-doing-question,

as my vibe unmistakable;
the hatred in the world directed at
MY PEOPLE,
is inexplicable, beyond reason,
a hatred raw and pure in the
tiny places we humans hide it, lest
our ancient linkage to an unreasoned,
embarrassing emotion, be revealed

but now revealed it is reveled,
as the freedom to despise is a
valued thing

is an ancient scar, now freshly wounded
and the two thousand year old accumulated, callused,
surrounding wafer thin, layered upon layer of
tissue,
wiped away
in utter disbelief
cleansed,
a different kind of impure clean,
“like” an ethnic cleansing,
traceless, whisked away in a wink of moment,
a goner.

like hope, prior sentient optimism
sentenced to life imprisonment and
this sentence, and this very sentence!
written finally understanding that it is
a punishment
far worse than the quick relief of death.

c’mon, how about a few “fukk you jew”
cri de coeur, heartfelt, genuine, pointless
hate

no, not I, no, not me,
spare me the pithy comments,
the pointless sympathy, glistening
like evaporating water droplets
before disappearing, I ask myself,
not
why they hate, why it persists,
for this I understand and accept
the foulness of what we are capable of is,

beloved,

as a secret pleasure, now secreted in torrents.

no, I ask myself,

why do I write poetry,

for it is as pointless as
the hatred directed at me,
from birth, till death,
and ever after,
the humanity of poetry
just another fraud

another reason
why this man cries in the bathroom,^
not from any shape of shame,

because poetry is pointless
in times of hatred, and now we
know, recognize, it is always
somewhere, nearby, always
present and prescient,
pointless hatred,
itching to be pointed at me,
makes for
pointless poetry.


To whom shall I point my poetry?

Love is a boulevard,
Sometimes we're in different lanes.
If all's going well, then I guess it's the same.
But what of the self-imposed roadblocks,
Or closures for repairs?
Things never gotten round to, and now
Some roads lead nowhere

I'm not looking just to use someone.
Or be used.
I want a partner.
If that's asking too much,
Pass along the news.

I know when to be persistent,
I know when to stop trying.
I'll quit my "*******,"
Stop my "crying."
:)

i would love to
be able to identify
a bird from its call
or the shape of
wide-spread wings
as one flies overhead
in theory
it may seem impressive
but if i were to
successfully distinguish
a chiffchaff from
a willow warbler
based on the patterning
and colour of
its plumage
or the shape
and length of
its tail feathers
i struggle to think
of a single person
who would respond
with more than
an indifferent
mocking or
pandering "oh"

I found a seed, and I planted it.
Watered it daily
Checked the soil in which it sat
Nothing happened so
I changed the potting,  
Giving it sun,
Made sure it saw the light
Checked it everyday
Did everything right,
Waiting for it to sprout something
Anything even.

But it didn't grow,
because the seed died

that initial feeling
of water as
it seeps
through the seams
of a boot
finding cracks
in the leather
supposedly
   waterproofed
against such leaching
of puddles being
drawn in by
a traitorous sock
willing to sacrifice
the fraternity
of dry comfort
that once it held
flooded with irritation
that will be quenched
only with the offering
of an inane
expletive or two
muttered
under breath
carrying the weight
of a week's worth
of frustrations

A lot of you
Would agree
That this world 
Would be a
Better place
Without me

I don't disagree 
In fact, I've been
Wanting to leave
It behind
For as long
As I can remember

So this is
The part where
I'll never recover,
The part where
Life takes me down,
And the scene
That scars
Forever