I have misled this woman who prepares our rice each night.
I have been disloyal to this teacher who taught me “cool.”
I have forsaken the hallucinogens that showed me possibilities exist
outside the inside and inside the outside.
For I have betrayed Albion Moonlight who taught me
more about myself than any human could.
Betrayed the soldier who walked away
when there was nothing left to fight for.
I am a coward my love,
looking past my dance partner into the crowds of the hungry.
It is wretched when the sea has splashed over the moon,
her children forever wanting without her.
I am two people sitting alone,
a woman and a man
drinking coffee,
waiting for exhausted flowers to bloom,
hoping for an early spring,
hoping for a voice to call me out from my winter cave.
I call out for the ovens to burn away
my stubborn courage.
I call out for the Zen masters to remind me
there is no way no where no thing.
I call out for the 29th st whores to restore my resiliency.
I call on the fbi to burst through my door
deport me back to Leningrad.
I call out for the buzzards to begin
pecking away at this shell
I carry on my back.
I call out for the French
to come teach me surrender.
I call out to the oceans of the uncaring to teach me about silence.
I call out for my neighbor to trick me with his Sufi wisdom.
I call out to the highways of America
to again stretch out their asphalt before these exhausted eyes.
I call out for the bass player to lay down the lows
the violinist to stretch out the highs.
I call on you to show me my ashes for I long to discover the truth.
I need you to save yourself from me
for I have become your worst enemy.
for I see you are goddess,
you are naked,
you are complete and now forever insulated
from this foolish dancing heart.
NYC
1987