For d. a. levy 

With a box of 1, 955 single-spaced type pages

Of interviews of your life on my apartment 

Outside rain dances as only rain can dance

Sweeping its way across sidewalks 

In conversation with ghost & psyche

From the Flats to Cleveland Heights 

I chase you ghost pony who

Runs unseen in the open range

Only to disappear

Like some lost line in some poem

That I forgot to write  

Petra 

It was a scene

Straight out of William S. Burroughs

She spit in my face and slapped me

Backhanded

Ripped 

The toaster oven out of the wall

And threw it at me

I ducked

It smashed into the TV 

On the other side of the room

Blowing itself into a thousand tiny pieces

She drove her combat boot

Into my reclining chair missing 

My balls by a fraction of an inch

Pulled my long hair back

Dragged me to the living room floor

With such rage that I puked blood 

All over the carpet, she jumped and screamed

About cocaine and lame hand jobs

She threw hammers, books, shoes, she

Threw the damn blender into the dictionary stand 

Then we fucked…

It was love at first sight

MAYA 
 

Mother

Mother 

I am new

Born of you 

I feed from you

As trees feed 

From root

Buried deep 

Mother

Mother 

I am of earth

Can you see me hear you? 

My eyes open

From dark to light 

I engage sounds

Outside of me 

Smells of things

Outside of me 

I feel the world

Breathe my body 

I look to the stars

And see only the dance 

Of all things