Sunday, February 17, 2013

Poems 2013

To a tuna 

Once you swam in the sea
then became part of my body
if one day the cemetery
will be submerged by a rising sea
perhaps your descendants will sup on me
thus favours returned


A school hat with a name in it
of a child who has long since left the school
a small photograph of a woman who
has long since left this world
a pigeon flying overhead
carrying the DNA
for a thousand future generations of pigeons
all cross my path

When bad things happen to good people
when good things happen to bad people
when bad things happen to bad people
when good things happen to good people

when good people turn out to be a bit bad
when bad people turn out to be a bit good
when the categorising mind takes a  lunch break
when most people turn out to be bad and good

when bad things turn out to be not so bad
when good things turn out to be not so good
when everything is in transition
and labels fall off like leaves in Autumn

when good people eat good animals badly raised and killed
when nameless animals eat other nameless animals
when trending to good people make judgement calls other good people judge as bad
when bad people unwhittingly or knowingly do good perhaps because
they're having  the afternoon off

when green things push up through the cracks
when the mind's circus stops whirling hither and thither
when everything begins in something else
like a great chain of clasped hands across the universe that slowly let go
'cos they've traced themselves back to the same body
when the burning question falls away


G-d made everything in two colours:
red and white
I try to keep them separate
but inconveniently
they keep on coming together again
I open the cupboard
looking for milk
but find blood

G-d made everything in 3 colours:
black, white
and red
pulsing underneath
only held in check by a layer thin
as skin

the world is full
of beauty and splendour
when you surrender

of course there is terror
along the way
but on the other side
is freedom
vast love
without fear


On the first day of school I was very frightened
my stomach hurt
I cried
I held Mrs Cunningham’s soft hand
she told me everything would be all right
and it was



The fox
went into Colesto buy a chicken
but even thoughit was wearing a scarf
and sunglasses
(it had seen Marilyn Monroe in similar get up)
the teller recognised it
and refused to ring up the sale:
"You're an introduced species", said the teller,
my hands are tied, management will kill me."
"What would you have me do"pleaded the fox,
"raid the neighbour's chook run?
then they'll call the rangers and they'll kill ME"
"Sorry" said the teller,"rules is rules."
so the fox waited outside
until a sympathetic possum 
tossed her a coin.
"I'm not looking for donations" said the fox
"I'm just trying to feed my children.
Would you be so kind as to purchase me a chicken
- preferably free range - they taste better"
The stranger agreed so that night
the foxes had supper
and the neighbours chicken was spared
but as someone once remarked
there's no such thing
as a free dinner
and what tomorrowwill bring
the foxes, chickens
and possums
isn't easy to say


note: coles is the australian equivalent of sa's pick n pay
chook= chicken in australian


I ran the city to surf alone
without a true friend, without a true home
plastic cup shards formed an angry sea
from their barbies the cows asked wistfully:

"what has all this to do with me?"


Sweet regret
inside I still feel like a young man
wanting to bed as many lovelies as he can
for the sweetness of skin
of down on the arm
and the soft apertures down there
but outside I'm ageing
I'm supposed to be settled and content with my lot
not staring at the strikingly tall blond schoolgirl
exploding out of her blouse
sweet regret

Obituary I

He paid his bills on time
he hung his washing on the line
- but to live the life he dreamed of - 
for that he had not time

Obituary II

He lived in his head
made plans on his bed
strung words on a thread
but remained unsaid


Rosh HaShanah Poem

May we be renewed

from moment to moment

instantly forgetting the 
false knowledge

we acquired yesterday

and the vain hopes

we have for tomorrow

may a divine Alzheimer's

leave us as fresh and fertile

as the ploughed field after rain

and let us say


Friends of Palestine document Israelis when they sneeze
but somehow miss dictators killing as they please


The song of the Atman tree (not latest version)

I want an inclusive poetry
a poetry of endings  as well as beginnings
fixities as well as transformations
of routine and inescapable dilemmas and same old same old
because under the rock of boredom
a great truth lies waiting
a poetry of maggots and degenerative diseases
a poetry of land fill sites and the stench of decay 
not just a poetry of rosebuds in May
a poetry of awkward uncomfortable feelings
a poetry like Parkinson's which shakes your hand
a poetry which does not lead you to a promised land
a poetry where lost amongst the discards
may still be found some beautiful shards
a poetry of melanoma
of legal disputes
which takes into cognisance a father shouting at his uncomprehending two year old who did not stop playing when called:
‘get into the fukking car’
which acknowledges post-natal depression and that we cannot assume parenthood comes naturally to everyone
that the schizophrenic and the swindler
are just labels we put
on moments gone wrong
(you can freeze the film at any frame,
it changes moment by moment)

Given that I would rather the world went up in flames and that inane insane cruelties continued
than risk being labelled eccentric and finding myself marginalised at work (or wherever we gather)by trying to brutallly punch through my colleague's defences
with naked animals skinned alive appeals for us to do something differently, something substantially inconveniently otherwise
to dent factory farming or global warming or sweat shops in Bangladesh
So I want a poetry which sees
how deep our conditioning and how,
given what we believe,
our behaviours are inevitable
until we loose our religion of me.

We have all attempted to scatter our ovaries
not to have all the eggs of our life in one basket
but rather implanted in other lives.
I too, to ensure that my story continues
sow words
hoping you will imbibe them and they will lodge in you
taking on a life of me-in-you like a McCartney-Lenon song humming itself
in a million minds, so we want ownership but we also want
decentralisation of ownership
when I arrive there
as David Fogel wrote
the palace of age 
is huge, white and empty
and no matter how many books
or lps or cds you sell
the mark of the unreal – contradiction - remains
and everything about us is unreal
except for the bliss and the suffering calling
calling on us to come home.

Yet given
that the mind
will not leave me
(or you)
of course we hanker deeply for something
that is beautiful
to come and lick away
our ugliness, having conceived of ourselves as such 
while a swirling cloud of cliches hovers around and inside us, and we traverse the lifeless landscape of value judgements:
"when bad things happen to good people" bla bla bla
and the biggest fiction we have invented
and keep on retelling each other
like a nightmarish soap opera
is the notion of agency
in a vain attempt to keep safe
what we imagine ourselves to be;
 if I pretend you could have chosen to do otherwise
then I can hold you accountable and punish you
in this way we clutch onto an illusion of control,
“because of the fear at nights.”

I want a poetics of inclusion
a poetry of illegal dumping
not of resentment and conformity and the stunted process of
political correctness
or of the low meaningless babble about unenforceable human rights which has been the backdrop
to Holocaust and various other unfathomable destructions
fashion dictates headlines and who's given media time and what is discussed
and what is hidden, behind the smiling death-masks
of newsreaders and breakfast show anchors.
No! Before we can surface
we must disgorge everything that is hidden
the opiates of share prices and sport results
Australian sex tourists buying children in Bali
The glassy eyed mantra’s of commodified relationships:
nice to meet you
have a good day
you poor sick fuck.

I want an inclusive,
socially responsible
and irresponsible
a poetry of dimly lit casinos and factory farms
because all of these nether worlds
spring up like weeds in the cracks
while our gaze is fixated elsewhere.
conspiracy theories and all acts of projection cannot survive the truth:
"we have met the enemy and he is us"

let us organise a clean up of
the land fill of the mind
Everything we have forgotten is here
in dimly lit corridors
and bars
red eyed in front of computer screens
at work late at night
telling lies

look into my eyes
watch my finger
your eyes are getting heavy
your body is relaxed
now close your eyes
and I'm going to count
down from 3 to 1
and when I reach one
I will snap my fingers
you will be asleep
and do and believe whatever I tell you:
Three, two, one...
Now you will believe
you can all drive your own cars and not have traffic jams and gridlock
you can show love and connectedness by going on a 33 hour shopping spree
that casino's can fight irresponsible gamboling and bars irresponsible drinking
that secret hungers can be legislated out of sight 
that people in Holland and Australia can resolve problems in the Congo or the rape of slaves in Saudia by reading 3 articles in The Guardian and clicking on a petition
that a brave new world can be built on ancient prejudices
that you can run infomercials about weight loss products or brain training programs or adverts about wholesome milk from the farm which omit the bobby calves sent off to the slaughter and   teach children not to lie and expect that they will believe you
that political correctness can dissolve the fear and desire that lies at the heart of bigotry and abuse
that people who are blind to their own splitting and disassociation and projection can effect harmonious change...
that you can fight cancer and environmental degradation and diabetes and sex trafficking and every other symptom whose roots you ignore with three minutes of attention and a tokenistic tick on the to do list.
isn't it clear?
the universe is created
out of habits
Language is a ritual we practice, more often than any other
we invite in the wild wolves of thought and then act surprised
when they gnaw out our wings and legs and we gradually loose the power
to walk and fly

emancipate language from the subjugation and colonisation
of commodification and media manipulation
move away from splitting and projection towards integration
leave tokenism behind, not mothers day or fathers day or cancer or earth day
but every day
like breathing, like walking, like brushing your teeth...
if you don't care about branding or being a brand ambassador
if you don't want to chat with a customer experience associate reading a script, but with a human being
if you need some kind of snorkel
to get to the air
somewhere above the tons of shit we shovel
if you don't believe the word restaurants fits with fast food outlets selling sugary, fatty, fibre less factory farmed foods 
or that news is only about conflict and violation, insanity and provocation, taking sides and polarization:
begin with a new daily ritual
check the labels
you have placed on your self as product;
maybe you’ve missed something
that begs to be seen.

I want a bounded poetry
without borders
whose insides are like their outsides
black fire on white fire
let compassion rule as the sovereign force in the universe
may it annihilate all barriers in its way
may it nudge all stunted process back into flow
acknowledging all beginning and end points are arbitrary
may it practice viveka
as in the rope from the snake
as in owning an impulse vs acting on it
as in telling benign from malign prejudice,
may It be revealed as such to me and to you

on that day
the body will exhale
our doubts will come galloping
over the hill like cavalry
each one an ugly duckling transformed
and the mind's chatter
will be a sweet serenade
letting us know
Adonai hu Elohim

Adonai hu Elohim
Adonai hu Elohim
Adonai hu Elohim
Adonai hu Elohim
Adonai hu Elohim
Adonai hu Elohim

veAni Adonai

Its as G-d as it gets
right now


There are many inter textual allusions in the poem, which I leave the reader to explore.
Viveka – Sanskrit – discrimination, the power of discrimination
Adonai hu Elohim – Hebrew – the G-d of mercy and the G-d of justice are one and the same
veAni Adonai – Hebrew - and I am That, That I am


ommited lines:

if you think disingenuous corporate vision statements and political slogans are there because we have made it unsafe to say right out what we want, being unable to distinguish

so that somehow, magically 
I get created and recreated from the outside in


sometimes making love to my wife
who is also my business partner
co-child rearer
emotional punching bag
can seem a little too
for decency

Confessions of a pornography eater

O how many smooth skinned plucked melon breasted woman have I fallen in "love" with
thrilling at their abundance and forgetting my troubles
and the hard paving of this world
and when I surface
sullied and sorrowful
for them and for me
bewildered by my reception
of what had come to be


The blessed counseller
turns suffering into connection
damage into new growth
they work with the aspect of mercy
and the aspect of justice
water and rock
then they come home
and rake up the garden leaves 
for compost. They know
"that the saint has sinned and the sinner will be sanctified"
that a little less doing
can go a long long way
and that new life bursts forth
from seeming stagnant decay


to be broke
is no joke
but don't
knot that rope
while there's life
there's hope

whether you're a Buddist or Jew
a Hindu, Moslem or Christian
on the right or left
a conservative or progressive
you're on a thought train to an
of the mind
where contrary information
is gassed and then cremated
and from the barren ashes
only more thoughts grow

doesn't matter
whether you're  Bhuddist or Hindu
Jew or Christian
Moslem or Bahai
we all come home to 2.3 kids
dealing with impenetrable call centres staffed by robots
eat the same over processed foods
we all hanker for something forbidden
all feel victimised by something or someone


zeman shehashemesh
shoka'at bemaarav
veohr vechoshech

the sirens are calling from the rocks
shave your peah's, grow your locks

the sirens are calling from the shore
don't be different any more

speak like us, think like us
eat the same, don't make a fuss

celebrate the same days, drink our booze
words as incantations
words as launching stations
words as meditations
words as calibrations 
words as maturations
words as transformations
words make conversations

I dream on my bed
Try conjure up bread
Live a lot in my head
String words on a thread
Yet remain unsaid

The wave 
used up all its energy
worrying how it could
improve the ocean

2, 4, 6, 8
leave your troubles at the gate
get your act together mate
thank you G-d for rooibos tea
for healing and for cleansing me
Sung to the tune of Queen's "This thing called love"

Crazy Little Thing Called "I"

This thing 
called I
I just
can't handle it
this thing
called I 
I must
see under it 
but I ain't ready
Crazy little thing called I

This thing (this thing)
Called I (called I)
It cries (like a baby)
for its dignity
It sulks (woo woo)
It lies (woo woo)
It makes up fibs any time of day
entertains me 
Crazy little thing called I

There goes my harmony
I lost it when I awoke
I drive me crazy
I drive me like a rental car
Then leave me in a foreign town

I gotta be cool, let go, relax
And get off my track's
Take a back seat, sit down
stop looking for something to complete my I
But am I ready?
Crazy little thing called I

Gotta stop, sol-ving, selving  
get off my grooves 
Take a back seat (ah hum), fall off (ah hum)
just let the sea dissolve my I
I yam ready (ready steady)
Crazy little thing called I

This thing called I, I just can't handle it
This thing called I, I must get around it
I ain't ready
Ooh ooh ooh ooh

Crazy little thing called I
Crazy little thing called I, yeah, yeah
Crazy little thing called I, yeah, yeah
Crazy thing I call my I , yeah, yeah
Crazy thing I call my I, yeah, yeah

My I oh my oh my
yeah yeah
O Shchinah
O Adamah
Adonai hu Elohim

(sung to the tune of)

If I could just get my death behind me I could really get on with my life

I hid in a synagogue for two years
making pamphlets and eating cake
waiting for my time to come

If I am a lettuce 
then let us

In the morning
when I struggle to rise
I say these words
familiar and comforting from long being held
like smooth sweet pebbles in the
mouth of someone
lost in a waterless desert:
modeh ani lefanecheha melech chai vekayam:
I gratitude to you, living G-d of being
that returns my separation 
great is my faith 

that we will meet today


Thanks for this glorious silence
thanks for the sun in the east
thanks for the trouble that passes
thanks for this famine and feast


I've made my bed and now I must die on it

now that I don't know who I am anymore
I'm free to be what I never was before


I grieve here
at nine

and alive home 
at one


G-d takes me for a walk
Adonai Roh-ee
I will not lack
for everything
and everyone
is in me


There's little room for complacency
as I continue my search for safety
sometime's its hard to relate
to my particular fate
but don't get me wrong
I love my song
as I drive home alone in the rain
seeking to live 
beyond pleasure or pain


O lonely masturbator
running hopelessly down
the rails of desire


when I was 13 I longed for a snowy smith skateboard 
and a bulova watch
and when I was 27 I longed to write
the perfect short story
and when I was 35
I longed to direct a profoundly moving feature film
and when I was 45 I longed for a handsome house
and family car
but always 
I longed for a woman

(These poems have nothing to do with the politics and religion of desire)
land of anti-depressants and kangaroo culls
big-car cuntry

fresh peaches
ripe pomegranates


when we judge our impulses 
rather than allowing them to come into full view
they remain subversively

a slim young women
with a diaphanous blouse
and generous breasts
walks into a funeral parlour
death makes sex 
even more urgent

(let us at least die

I ate a Mc%$@#s burger
and sank into oblivion
I bought things I didn't need
and sank into oblivion
I went off to the races
and sank into oblivion
I fiddled with the pokies
and sank into oblivion
I wrote another poem
and sank into oblivion
only problem is
oblivion doesn't last

I get hooked on a passing thought:
I get hot under the collar
I write letters
I sign petitions
I post thing to facebook
I get exhausted
I subside
I remain
your eyes are looking at something you've found
the world keeps on spinning around and around
and whether you dream of the earth or the sky
I want you to know that you're my kind of Guy

Life lends you to us, and G-d makes no mistake
so much abundance can make the heart ache
but whether I smile or there's a tear in my eye
I'd like you to know that you're my kind of Guy
For 25 years 
a bullet
has travelled  along with me
until last night
on the cliffs of Vaucluse
I threw it into the sea

I have a diary
courtesy of Walter Carter Funerals
that numbers my days


Don't be the husband or the wife
be the love between them
don't be the leader or the follower
be the love between them
don't be the parent or the child
be the love between them
don't be the owner or the dog
be the love between them
 don't be the flower or the bee
be the love between them

don't be the whale or its song
be the love between them

al pi amirah shel Sri Nisargaddata Maharaj


jagged edges
smooth as glass:
this too
shall come to pass

The kick off whistle. Playing rugby
against Highlands North
a collective puncturing
and escape of air as they slammed into us like a goyishe freight train
into brittle boned jewbirds
did this create the story or affirm it?

The big stink
said Uncle Sid
who made the big stink?
shame came early dropping in
seeping through the cracks of my
open soft skinned being

Sam bedigz

At yeshiva
I went down 
to gaze upon the two plain woman in the office
their long sleeve cuffed with lace
and for a mad crazy moment
when one entered the toilet
peeped through the keyhole 
hoping to see
the sweet stuff of life

A man known only to me as "Lemmy"
the tea boy at my father's office, Teleoptic
brought sweet sweet milky tea
around 7 or 8 times a day
chipped and stained, but china with saucers
on a tray. Well I remember
his toothy smile, not like the man whose fingers were caught in the metal stamp
and two lost. I never saw him, just heard his story
that night as my dad related rushing him off to the hospital.
This was the safe backdrop to my life, removed and comforting, 
the order of things in a known universe, 
Lemmy died. I think my dad went to the funeral.  
He and dad in the great Teleoptic in the sky.

Doggerel Day (with acknowledgements to Gus Ferguson)

now that I don't know who I am anymore
I'm free to be what I never was before

to rest in my prison
to rest in my flight
to rest in my weakness
to rest in my might

to rest on the grass
to rest on the sea
to rest inside you
to rest inside me


I've been to the west and I've been to the east 
and I'm bloated with spirit like a warm bowl of yeast
I've been to the ashram, I've been on retreat
I've sat in the silence, I've stopped eating meat
I'm so enlightened I can't find my head
perhaps it has fallen under the bed
I've been to Satsang and I've been such a whore
and yet I'm no settled than I was before

The things that I wanted to do in my prime
will when I am old(er) and then have the time

not seem so urgent, not urgent at all
the fingers will reach for the pen and withdraw

instead I'll bed virgins and sip from their cup
despite not being able to get it up

yes when I am (old)er with only one eye
I will smoke dagga and look at the sky

when you are young
wear your body
like a shoulder bag
like a pair of slip on shoes
without socks

when you are old
wear your body like
a slightly crumpled coat
on a melting, too small

with a pure faith
that you are That Love
that swallowers up lovers
clenched on their beds
that swallows up travels
to distant lands
and swallows up dreams
that swallows up prisons
and hospital beds
first days at school
and last days at work
that swallows up victory
and mangled defeat
that swallows up bodies
into the eloquent chatter
of interstellar


Like a Buddist in a butcher shop
like a lover of pristine coastlines
watching people carrying out their overpackaged shopping 
in the millions of plastic bags that will despoil them 
wrestling with the seeming turgid inevitability
of the way things seem to be right now
but knowing it is all changing
relentlessly, irresistibly
by itself

I always wanted to protect Israel
and Judaism
like a little baby
like a guiding star
by which I find
my way

In Jerusalem
time and space are contracted
the 21st century touches the 57th
Har Habayit touches El Aksa
touches Kommimiyot
North touches South
East West:

That's why there's so much friction 

Advice to the sons and daughters of Adam ve Chava

 "Al Tihiyeh Tzadik Harbei" (Kohelet) - "Don't be too righteous" (Ecclesiates)

but don't steal too much
Tell the truth
but not too much
but don't eat too much
but not too much
but not too much
but not to much
but not to much
but not too much
but not too much


My hands
my feet
my car
my old school
my bacteria
my fundamentalists
my factory farms
my global warming
my olympic gold medals
my babies
my wars
my philanthropy
my heroism
my sacrifice and discipline
my good sense
my drug lords
my coal addiction

In the land of Israel
when disater threatened
the kohanim, the priestly caste
would go to the temple
would light a fire
offer sacrifices
perform rituals
sing the psalms

later when the temple had been destroyed
and the people scattered
when disaster threatened
the kohanim and leviim
would light a fire
perform rituals
sing the psalms

still later, when the land had been taken away
the temple destroyed
the people scattered
and disaster threatened
the authorities did not allow Jews to light a fire
so all who claimed to be descendants of the kohanim and leviim
would gather in the synagogues
perform the ritual
sing the psalms
and tell the story
of how disaster was averted

and later still, when a third of his people
as in every generation
had not been saved

and disaster threatened
they could not go to the temple
or light the fire
offer sacrifices
and the rituals had changed
but they sang the psalms
and told the story
which grew  the telling
and acquired
quite apart from the things of which it spoke
a life of its own
so that those who told it
found in it a reason, a purpose, a pay-cheque

whether disaster was averted or not

Now I am writing this
Now I am writing
Now I am
Now I

One day I will be gone
One day I will be
One day I will
One day I
One day

Is it not indescribable?
Is it not?
Is it?

Now One Is

I bring Hebrew where there is none
I bring exercise where there is only slump
I bring doubt where there is complacency
I bring certainty where there is none

I bring otherness where there is only sameness
I bring depth where only surface seems safe
I bring quiteness where noise abounds
I bring connection where there's only cliche


At night I dream of you
beloved that has gone
mammals that have disappeared
each and every one

the crescent nailtail wallaby
the pig foot bandicoot
the Tasmanian tiger, the boodie
which lived near figtrees root

with you has gone some wonder
the gasp in a child's eye
who saw in them reflection
of G-d's diversity

yes Bega cheese is on the shelves
but quoll and koala were quelled 

with the introduction of cattle
and the Eucalypts that were felled

So you'll see a maccers wrapper
and you'll see a plastic bag
blowing down the street or
festooned upon some snag

but you will not see the rabbit-rat or
hear the lesser bilby's hiss
as they fell before the boot of man
and the poison in his kiss


may I borrow your crotch, my dear
may I borrow your breasts
let me take them home for a while
so that I can get some rest

your toungue, your lips, your nipple your hips
I will not take them far
to have them is to be done with them
and then I can see what else you are

thought happens to me
almost constantly
I step out of sleep into a blizzard of them
"the human condition:
lost in thought"

the toilets at work
beit mikdash me'at
my little sanctuary


the sea of cause and effect
is tangled and wide
and while one may catch a fish
one cannot catch the sea itself


Identity theft

Someone has stolen my identity
the bank will no longer take my money
someone bought a treadmill
using my name
and had it delivered to an address in Zimbabwe
my children will not
climb into the car
claiming they've been warned against strangers
the woman I've lived with
for twenty years
says she doesn't know
who I am anymore

my access card will not work at work
so I suddenly find I have time on my hands
and with nothing to do
can find out what I am
am I your son? I ask my father
am I your father? I ask my son
am I at all? I ask myself
and wait for an answer to come
in the meantime
I go for long walks on the beach
and try to maintain
a scholarly mien
I read in the papers
that I'm wanted for fraud
or, at least, a person with
the same name as me
perhaps I should try to steal it back
the accounts, the habits, the plans, the facade?
or perhaps it is better
to travel incognito
at least this way
i don't pay taxes
and feel less aggrieved
when the waves wash my footprints


The vocabulary of equinamity

Instead of harassed
 try 'the police stopped me one more time"
why bring your blood to the boil
when it could be cool
instead of abused
suck on "my father did that"
instead of unfair play with
this taught me that

Songs to the Silence

Rabeynu shel Olam
let me be less grasping


is a name
for That
from which every

and Elohim for That
which takes it all back


Making  whole

Even during peacetime
a psychologist or counsllor
is like W.H. R. Rivers
sending Sassoon back to the front
now able to cope
with the insanity
of kill or be killed
ready to hold down a job
and watch ads on television
ready to consume
whre consumption is needed
and contribute to landfill
with every council collection
to bring in the exterminators
should pests be in the kitchen
and speed the collapse of bio diversity
with every tasty bite of palm oil
to send the kids to the best schools possible
so that they too may succeed
back to a life
of props to self esteem
tummy tucks and anti ageing cream
instead of the thing itself
back to a life of work that disadvantages
as much as it benefits


"Suck on this, bitch"

The Austrlian community
and working Australians
want safer borders
the freedom to make their own choices
a strong economy
and reality tv
regular education grants
to spend on the pokies
and subsidised pain medication

I want to lie
very still
inside you
but unmoving
hardly daring to breathe
my stomach against your
back my
hands cupping your
your nipples
taut aginst my palms
with no past
or no future
I your Adam
you my Chava
waiting just a little
to explode
hands cupping 

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