unless the rain were certain
in my pockets yes
yes and yes in my pockets go then up
and to you my tomb and we
but down again
 this is a prison if we read it by my pacing
 so
yes the rain is certain when it's falling
as much as is anything
so much as certainty is a question and
the water remains in the bottle as does the gin

passover satyr poses like the lions at the shulchan aruch and says

 passover satyr
is here because you
skipped a verse in chad gadyot
 what kind of person does that
(i'm gonna eat your hat)
this year (you thought i would.. passs.. o. nono)
and so i'm here
readably queer
to ask you questions
to learn if you're a bitter herb
or just salty somehow
and if i think that we can sit at the same table
i hope you will
try some of my lamb shank
we could make a hillel sandwich
but that's if you answer my questions
and AMA of course tit for tat
and we see how that all goes down
how do you realize the text of all who are hungry let them come and eat
in your own practices and where would you like to be with that and why and so forth what's in your fridge
by what name would you like to be seen by me, and how do you see your identity in the community you'd want to see built
and why did you skip through 12 verses
12
in chad gadyot





hold space for the answers
interrogate them
be open to interrogation
butter
garlic
flirt relentlessly
discover your own or

we take our scars with us as far as we go

 we take our scars with us as far as we go

begins

occasionally i be looking around to find an item - those moments-in-chains and said item will be
i will remember it as gone by my hand, in a mood of letting go, at some time in a past year, on its own or gathered with other
in a mood of letting go and in a mood of moving on as though there were an on to move to which needed room made for it
and in a mood of being overwhelmed whether by clutter or memories, so out it went
and there i will be looking around and find the feeling that i put it out the thing and so instead i'll miss it
contemplate my relationship with it, it's encountering and carrying and parting places, and people, and because the memory had an anchor it can be an idol
and 1
idols, why the bad rap,
2
it can be kept as a what which carries stories, and is given honor, and introduced to others, its stories with it echoed.
3
ther e is sismonething what
those damn action figures show up across contexts

it's
the senese of expanding by backlash, against ajudgement which source is maybe paternal. we could ask him why idols the bad rap if he answers put it here
and as though some old version of him is
he had phases that one hoo
anti pc at one point
maybe he misheard it on the radio
had to have a pc shouted it even as he wheeled down the stairs and voila soon or not soon after a tandy 1000 there was (because as things become there are namings) and it turned me kyphotic but
another time walking a street he said things about PC censorship, another time about feminazis, another time some other dumb shit, i learned from him that black people should be ashamed to eat watermelon but not why or why they weren't and i didn't ask because we were being yelled at for picking up coins
people learn
all manner of things
and there is no progress
but that towards a direction
 so ways of imagining like 'what children are for' or 'what is possible' or 'why idols the bad rap' or in that better tomorrow who's alive and who gets time to sing shamelessly
these ways will beckon if guide and
 old skins will be shed
  as many as needed

the items which we imprint with the scent of our experiences
can stick to the skin sometimes

 maybe the shed skin too can be honored for its stories of
it can
it can be treated otherwise

those what carry our stories
might be put down carefully
we mgiht
we might
 and
longing for a thing we one day 'kissed away to jesus' so a friend would say when culling hoards,
we might still know its attachment
we might not know ours
if it were encountered again and with a friend to introduce to
tell that story then
and still might desire to renew the  the feel and smell and t
we might not wish to be surrounded
where stories are echoing


i
would sometimes have dreams of exploring the walls
extra rooms or passages
this house or that significant one
sneaking or just discovering boldly
sliding panels
ladders
attics over bedrooms below roofs nevermind the architecture

have a few times leaned so far into someone i was falling any way they
were gone

so far so good

 the landing

- even in a place and now where the direction is questioned and the steps are sure; even with kin to walk beside -
                he used to be able to throw a stone (river: skipping // ceramic: spinning )
             hurts

all this is preamble:

 when a memory too seems more to be clutter.
a memory like a thing, as a thing, various frames of ogoloizing

or and the thing sometimes forgets with us its other way of meaning, it is just, always there. how strange it should at that then be offensive but

  so then the stories of that memory can be soil

   so the thing can be buried

         some would imagine new growth it does come some
   how can a memory itself lose its story though?
ah hm
well
  it can be a memory ofa thing. it can come from nothing, go to nothing, have no relations. someone can pick it up . it can become. it is hardly yours
 can live in a body now gone and this body can leave them go

occasionally. looking back for a memory. saying. that one. i let it go. and what then

the borders are unimaginable

 and the speaker would sya i am here
i amhere and thepeople's microphone would take it up
the global people's microphone i am here and all who hear s ay i
am i here i am and say i am here
and outward from the s peaker so the people of the north would hear nd
say i am here and of the south would
i am here
and it would resonate and of the west
and east and round again so the speaker
would take it back
in waves
and we all knew we were here and it was an endless songwe became fought ate loved traded died and murmurated our ways we said i am here and received it and sent it out and
  and we were and it is still so
it is still so
call yourself out be 

heard listen respond

who eats the meats

 who eats the meats


to get through it
 the students of efficiency read introductions
and conclusions
 what's between is too long for the time
for the given time and so
consume their bread their quickly bread
their assignations
 as digestible sandwiches
spread sandwiches cool bread with mayonnaise
introductions quickly quickly
quickly quickly conclusions
quickly be
be quickly read
kiss hello and goodbye kiss
           life takes
too long for the given time

death to teachers all and break them on wheels for their whinging oh oh the youth care not for poetry who are gathered here to rebel only and nevermind their chains 

they all are bastards who so smugly thought their charges good or bad for wanting to be taught 

who stood like scarecrows with their hermit lamps declaring all dishonest who decried their camps 

death to them and damned their memories who kept the gates with words and numbers, told us of our fates 

the best of them were worst, who could have stood aside, released their hold, refused their charge to blind us with their lights 

back on my bullshit

with nothing left but death alone we organize

by twos and by threes and by seven by seven by sevens

dropping back occasionally

swinging down to pluck some feathers but

where we go will work out

we're moving 

together