the land where nothing grows

the frail hands will do their best

to cradle your angular chest, to convince you of your glory

but this wealth and fear will suck the revolution from your bones,

and we all know that the spirit travels west to die.

this pair of eyes grew milky and blind

while i find i can't even remember the color they used to be.

and that's a discomforting thought, isn't it

because how could i ever know a person such as yourself

without ever having looked you in the eyes?

i'll think of you from time to time

when you are gone

and remember that i reiterated my plea over and over.

my throat went raw 

my knees gave, i stumbled

and the sun burnt the nape of my neck.

i asked

no, i begged,

i begged you to stay.

do you remember the day?

no i suppose

i wouldn't have either.

as i trudge in my adolescent boots.

the German Gypsies
click their heels
into dells

and
i
extinguish my
matches in
old plastic
cups
of
ice water

what of that?

the water bubbles
and out pours the jewish woman.
she clicks her heels
into your lowerlip.


and
i
spend my moments
behind the greek monuments


my shoes untied.
i get up again.
you're face is turned.
to the loose fitting shirts.


ah well.