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Why is my back loaded with fine flour, while in my mouth there is no bread at all, but only straw? I drink well-water, though I carry wine. And the stick goes on fracturing my skull!
I live in rubble…
Credo in a kind of
American jewish Hamlet-like
bagel, too round for action
yet leavened enough by contact
with the near-dead past—you call it
landscape, I call it history—to provide
a layered vantage…
On the holiest day we fast till sundown.
I watch the sun stand still
as the horizon edges towards it. Four hours to go.
The rabbi’s mouth opens and closes and opens.
I think: fish
and little steaming…
Here I begin; listen to me, great and small.
Once there was a mighty king—as in the stories begun by girls. His peer in virtue was not to be found. He had a land that was stately indeed. He…
“I’m called the offspring of the grape,” said the wine. “People drink me fervently, and I’m very fine. I can make people joke and jibe, I can drive away their terrible pains, I can delight their…