Never Shake that Dybbuk on a January Night
January 2019- New Work – Seeing Eye Ear- 2018
Mixed Signals
Encased
Inside
the very center of a
January icicle night
with all the colors
running silent
screaming black and white
and the top of the tip
of the tongue’s pigment.
Encased
Inside
the very center of a
January icicle night
He ran from the room
like an errant fire engine
in his eyes was the lighthouse
on fire while a confused group
of hastily summoned volunteers
wondered what the next best course
of action might be
either make a run to connect hoses
or watch out for the jagged rocks
off the shore line shrouded in icy fog
or just shrug and leave quietly
by the clearly illuminated fire exits.
But instead
they sat arrested by him
in his wake
his warning
his smoke
while wondering
what could be next for all them
Encased
Inside
the very center
of a January Icicle Night.
From Sometime Grief- 12/11
*
The Dybbuk Dreams
*
It was in the first few nights of the New Year
when all promise and disaster were as unopened mail
that the past had a walk in his sleep.
The Dybbuk’s hands opened old draws
shuffled through forgotten pages
Pausing to repeat a line of a letter
here and there.
Ashes were stirred and long dormant old flames set free
to flicker. Then the night faces could dance once more.
Night faces coming back to visit shining
eyes to glow back into.
Another year rolling itself out like an immense black wing .
Your sleeping form swept along in this night flight,
those waking hours, now the specter, this was the soul
strolling hand in hand with the eternal freedom of
time asleep.
She walked once more upon the mores, in a chilly thick fog.
Here where she had always known that he waited for her
In between anger and consequences,
in this dream scape of quicksand recall where mushroomed
marsh islands of what might have been.
They both returned to this shadow realm of still photographs
hung and propped in the endless stark arms of winter.
Here where the past stood naked and true.
Both came with small hands grasping deep into the heart’s
pocket. Each visited at different points
along the dream curve, with separate dependencies and
versions of the same story.
They left messages here for each other.
The last word over and over. The promises of reconciliation
and forgiveness. The sensation they shared of never being
able to meet face to face again, outside of this place
of half light sand deep grey pools. Always to return to
the same beaten path, in the corner of the dream.
This place where the images of each other’s faces
in those frozen photos snared arrested looks
and eyes of love and delight that once were shared.
They both returned to this place, every so often
to get a face full and
look down at the others footprints
left in the path
from the night before.
-Another Rubber Eden 1/95
Here in the Rubbereden
List of the End of January
*
Snow coal cone lump ashtray pustule
shrinking in the corner of the parking lot.
(Ah….early spring)
Sound of clogged carburetor gagging on itself.
*
(Great…now you’ve flooded it)
*
Lost key trunk eye-hole with yellow handle
long nick Phillip screwdriver protruding.
(Nope that didn’t work either…keep swearing)
*
False dawn slapping wind banging away
slamming cheap tin bed frame freight train
ready to orgasm and derail.
*
Centipede shadow crawling measuring spoons
scurrying across the dingy white moon soaked linoleum floor
looking like a pool of quicksand.
*
Brown plastic garbage can rolling down the block
yawning in the gutter.
*
Air raid siren blast exploding
in a razor blade cable running through your ears
jerking your head off the sound sleep pillow.
(This was only a test)
*
Child’s dream speak night talk back lit in
orange dragon space heater steel teeth
hissing at the bars on the crib.
(Some childhood memories are best forgotten.)
*
Fresh creme of the New Year
curdling in the calendar’s carton.
*
Whose face is that on the side?
*
Another Rubber Eden 1/89
