11:40 p.m. To my beloved floodtide,

If we had but world enough and time

And enough coffee, this coy poem, sweet boy,

Would somehow rhyme (quantum physics having proved

Distance is illusory. Teatime doubly so.)

I by the rising Ganges pronounce

The floods that fill your skin; you,

With your fresh thoughts, careful,

Care for me somehow (quantum physics having shown

That nothing disappears, nothing is gone); how?

Have you ever read Paul Celan?

Herr Tod ist einer Meister aus Deutschland,

und so weiter. Tell me, my beloved boy,

will quantum physics reconcile you and I?

if once upon a time we've touched,

are we still touching? if once we danced,

(quantum physics has proved)

then we are still dancing. if once

upon a time we held hands,

then we are still dancing.

dear diary, thank god or whoever nobody reads you nor my drunken poems. Hab rachmones, hab rachmones, hab rachmones.

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the Funny Show

agriculture poem

my life in the ghost of Bush

time-lapsed (part 1)

unreconciled

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Images are taken without permission from the fine and trusting folks at Folk Arts of Poland; please purchase something from them. Background music stolen without permission from Epitonic, Basta Music, and just about everywhere else my unscrupulous hands could grab something. No rights reserved.

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