These are the facts, nothing here but the facts. I was on the road to Damascus via a street in the West Village in New York City, when, in an instant, barometric pressure had dropped 100 MB. Darkness enveloped an eleven-o’clock-morning sun. It may have been a trick of the mind, or some kind of serious panic disorder. Although I could no longer see, I pictured myself a child on a visit to my great grandmother's house in La Salle, Illinois. In my head I felt as though a tornado was approaching...
5 ¶ And when thou prayest, thou shalt not be as the hypocrites are: for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and in the corners of the streets, that they may be seen of men. Verily I say unto you, They have their reward.
6 But thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret; and thy Father which seeth in secret shall reward thee openly. 7 ¶ But when ye pray, use not vain repetitions, as the heathen do: for they think that they shall be heard for their much speaking. 8 Be not ye therefore like unto them: for your Father knoweth what things ye have need of, before ye ask him. 9 After this manner therefore pray ye: Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be thy name. 10 Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven. 11 Give us this day our daily bread. 12 And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. 13 And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil: For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory forever. Amen 14 For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you: 15 but if ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.
Should I appear distracted, Look knocked out by the light. You make a very strong performance, A singularity round whose axis my mind spins.
I remember once, years ago, When I landed in New York, After living a year and half in Europe, How the neon of America Seemed so awesomely garish, and bright. Yet, when I close my eyes and picture it,
All seems pale before the radiance of your face.
Two people may meet for morning breakfast, Look out the café's window at the steady rain, Walk here and there along avenues of Inviting store fronts, and before the day is over Fall into hopeless passion one for the other, As though there be something in the air, Perhaps some electromagnetic charge. So the occasional electricity might overwhelm us.
Or cupid steals behind fixtures of thoroughfares. (That day I spied him crouched near a mailbox, When we began to walk main street in Point Pleasant!)
The winged child pulls from his quiver arrows. They drip wet with potion. Once he aims And shots them, grievously they tear mortal flesh Making for a ruckus extraordinaire And expectations suddenly become great.
This romance now so hard upon me, This love I must ardently profess is, if you please, Couched, subjunctive, a mood, A grammar I use so to temper My over-wrought affection and quiet The immodest verse and elevated parlance,
It provides relief for prophetic mantle I assume, The all too far-out attitude, the conceit Whose command animates this verse.
Were I not to employ this principle of language, One might believe that my love for you be shameless.
Understand. I solely express my own wish and desire, All I say remains contingent, Of a mind still hypothetical and dependent.
I do not use the imperative, I make no demand. I have no special outcome in mind.
I live in the fortress called Zion, And come from it in the Pilgrims' coat and hat. I look in the mirror and see their collar and tie. And, like those passengers on board the Mayflower, I know the Lord to be my helper. I fear not.
Who among your former friends has ever said it better?
And were you to live long and hearty life, As all actuaries predict, What future friend might ever say it better?
And should you for a moment consider,
This lyric arrive, transcending everyday concerns, That it join, Sentiment Supreme, Him, the real pilot,
When we drove in the white, Ford van and crossed Jersey's North shore highways, while the brown,
Oh that magic, gentle, dream-like, living, pale, ethereal,
And somewhat golden light accented the downpours, Whose constant unleashed falling, seemed more Like the storm the Lord had promised Noah, Than any explicable, temporary weather.
Wie es eigentlich gewesen war. 'The carriage held but just us -- and immortality.'
And since we first drove around together, Though it is months ago, It feels shorter than the day, I first surmised the engine's mounts Were tied to point, and we, too, were belted, Hurled straight ahead in covenant with eternity.
I seek. I crave the whiff, your body scent, Your fragrance, I remember, it’s as if, You’re in my arms right here at home today.
My resolve, it weakens, I want you back. I’m lonely, turn the covers, Find only bed empty and heart ache, The terrible pain of my regret, Oh how I hate the resolve, never to see you, Have nothing more to do with you, How ever long I may live, I swear to it and mean it!
Yet I want you. Wish to see you, your form Behind the shower curtain, ghost figure in the steam, The water running full throttle, the heat, The great comfort, I close my eyes, I fall to vision; it’s incredible, beyond belief, I fail in my recount, you, you, my darling,
I have come to believe you were heaven sent.
Can’t you see I’m at your feet!
I wish to witness your getting dressed, You, in the morning naked in our bedroom, and Naked in the room whose door opens Opposite to the foot of our bed, Hurrying to get on with the day,
And then the other part, morning, noon, Or night, when you are in our bed, And I hold you open to savor over and over again.
I want to see your smile, and utterly to embrace you. Were I to steal – now and forever – all your pain away!
I would be finished with you, But you, devil, trickster, you and your incantations, You practice arts you learned when young, When you and your mother spent all that time, Back and forth going to the Bahamas, You use high-tech, gigabyte millions, You work a black magic, Have you command of infectious virus? The computer’s screen beckons me, keeps me awake.
Believe me when I tell you, I hear your voice, your whispers, Behind the sounds, behind the hum of the circuitry, You’re calling, and then writing me notes, Hoping to fill, to close up the empty between us, And I am compelled to read, Though the letters do not include me, Of course, not word, nothing, Nothing about how things might be going for me.
Your only concern you, and how terrible you, How terrible you feel, and with those words, The wound reopens, my festering cut, the red hot, (Why do I care? Why do I even open your notes?) The pain surrounding the punctured, The ripped and torn, the awful marks of the lash, There has not been time enough, Will ever there be time enough, My flesh, properly, to heal?
And forgive me the blasphemy, forgive! Lord have mercy, save me!
I am reminded of Jesus after the beating, When they tore off the purple, Returning Him to everyday clothes, Then at Golgotha where they stripped Him, Before they nailed Him to the cross, They stripped him, once more, The pain of those wounds, opened and reopened, Inflicted, over and over, oh the burn, every time, Every time you write me, and I hear from you again.
Was not handsome, nor was she particularly wise, No one ever said she was the smartest, But she painted well, an artist, And following the common adage, Different time and place, who knows the reputation, The renown she might have attained?
She dressed the girls in pricey sets, And every one appreciated it, For Dad was gone, Family, three girls abandoned, And Mother was sick, Had to stay long time in the sanatorium, But Grandma had her ways, Paid no heed to underwear, Think on this a moment, for who could see it?
Though it be tattered and dirty, And Lord knows should have been replaced, Especially when one consider the cash outlay, That she paid no heed to any outfit’s cost.
She favored subtle, flower prints, Nothing garish; she was master seamstress, A healthy woman, who loved her cats And took in every kind of stray, animal and human, A former dancer who partook of chorus, Had her training down at LUNA, And, all who knew her swear, She practiced kicks, over head, when she had, She had already celebrated birthdays past seventy.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come: Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
I seek. I crave the whiff, your body scent, again, Your fragrance, I remember it, it’s as if, You’re in my arms right here at home today.
My resolve it weakens, I want you back. I’m lonely, turn the covers, Find only bed empty and heart ache, The terrible pain of my regret, Oh how I hate my commitment, never to see you, Have nothing more to do with you, How ever long I may live, I swear to it and mean it!
Yet I want you. Wish you, your form Behind shower curtain and ghost figure in the steam, The water running full throttle, the heat, The great comfort, I close my eyes, There is incredible, when I fall to pleasant vision, I fail in my recount, you, you, my darling,
I have come to believe you were heaven sent.
I wish to witness your undressing, Naked in our bedroom, hurrying to get on with the day, And then the other part, Me holding you open to savor over and over again.
And you use high-tech electronics, gigabyte millions, You work a black magic, The computer’s screen beckons me, keeps me awake, Believe me when I tell you, I hear sounds of whirling circuitry, You’re calling, writing me notes, hoping to fill To close up the empty between us, and I read, Though the letters do not include me, Of course, not word, nothing about me, Nothing about how things might be going for me, Your only concern you and how terrible you, How terrible you feel, and then The wound reopens, the festering, the red hot, (Why do I care? Why do I even open your notes?) The pain surrounding the punctured, The ripped and torn flesh, There has not been time enough, Will ever there be time enough, My flesh, properly, to heal?
