“The phrase I like to use to describe my sense of time—a play on comparative literature—is comparative time.”

Give me your body I shall never know to the end,
Give me the vessel, not the wine.

The pressures of my life bring together my birth day
And my death day, like history books.

All the crumbling things
Are on their way to becoming one again

Sandals are the youth of a shoe
And the memory of its trek to the desert.

You had a laughter of grapes:
many round green laughs.

 

And so farewell to you, who will not slumber,
for all was in our words, a world of sand.

I fought all the knights, until the electricity gave out.
And that is my glory.

 

And their faces are still crisscrossed
with God’s will.

 

In his next incarnation he’ll be a sword: the hurt will re-
      main.

People caught in a homeland-trap:
to speak now in this weary language