the refusal of the sun to come out

some days go by
without ever opening your eyes all the way
and despite any squirming,
muscles stay clenched
like they were under cold sheets

the refusal of the world to make itself appealing
the refusal of that spot on my spine to stretch open
the refusal of my body to look up to the world

confession to to William Kentridge and Audre Lorde

those branches that first enchanted me to you- I do not say-
there they are- I do not point-

but here, instead, chirp small confessions to my chosen enormities

-hovering over your unmade bed,
I'm pretending to not be remembering
and settle on the floor.

Sometimes, William, time actually does yield
watching its ark land here, tentatively,
is some small grace
of what might happen,
if we continue to survive.

One Manual for History as a synonym for God

To imagine history as a synonym for god:
Start by singing the mi'sheiberah on loop for your partner's Catholic mother
you say: you tell her I'm praying, ok?
he doesn't believe in it,
but then reveals that she's asked.

the debbie friedman version, preferably,
as in your housemate's chuckling suggestion,
as in the live concert clips with guitar strumming,
and the streamable cantor-in-training mp3's:
may the source of strength that blessed the ones before us
help us find the courage to make our lives a blessing.

Unearth here.

your friends look at you sideways, but
Disregard "blessing" (for now, at least)
and the parameters you've set on what is relevant to trust

It's dusty but, 
beneath assimilation and your ancestors self hatred,
it starts to look clear.

I've got no illusion of newness, it's just-
These days, I'll blame capitalism whenever I can.
The constant present accelerating as it is
the climate warming as it is
and the vacuum of palatable words for ideas with meaning
me on my bed with youtube
G G Em Em C C D
and let us say, Amen.