jackleg

a grand farrago
mosaics made up of
broken bits
jackleg jobs
done on the sly
configured
and rejiggered
on the fly
pastiche people
in hasty shanties
decorating
like magpies on acid
yet through this
mishmash mess
the patchwork perseverance
we see the beauty
in our duct-taped ingenuity
in our carry-on and can-do
in the glorious makeshift madness
of me and you

menorah

like a cheap and tacky
dollar store plug-in menorah
it represented the thing
but was not the thing
it offered a sad semblance
but no grandeur
a flickering plastic version
of hope
that lasted both
more and less
than eight nights
and while it would do
in a pinch
it couldn't hold a candle
to a real flame

repair

i retreat
repairing to a safe space
to repair myself
collecting all the bits and pieces
and a giant tube of krazy glue
(more crazy than glue)
to salvage, sort and stick
with spit and hope
and hope that it will hold
that the cracks and seams
will not seem so great
to the ones who see me after
or that they will find charm
in my antique finish
and if they fill
this empty vessel,
if they pour themselves,
their hope and love
to fill me up again
that I will hold
that my fissures
will not leak and seep
and spill their gifts
irretrievable

imprimatur

marking it with his scent
like an old tomcat
in a new house,
his imprimatur
he puts about the place
and settles in
gets cozy
by the fire
made up
of burning bridges
and memories

durable

skeptics mouthing an incantation
with no intonation
full of suspicion
are never surprised
when magic doesn't happen

to build from material ephemeral
something eternally durable
required an alchemy beyond us

so now I say a different spell
a sorcery for just me
a charm against the charming
against the face disarming
no curses or hexing
just a potion or three
in a glass raised to the world
ever perplexing
enchanting myself
if no one else

etymology

broken down
into component parts;
teasing out our history
from bits and pieces,
fits and starts.
seeing how this came to be:
a couple's etymology.

we roll the sounds around
our mouths
like marbles,
random vowels and consonants,
until they become merely
disassociated dissonance

or, like a child
dissecting an old clock,
we lay the bits of us
upon the table.
marvel at how
we're put together
and when we are all laid out,
springs and cogs
and promises,
when we are the parts
and not the whole;

that is when
we're asked the time

we scramble.
try to remember
what went where,
but despite our best efforts...
always tiny pieces left out,
ifs and ands and maybes,
our metal bent
ever so slightly
as we reassemble.

and though the hands
spin round the face,
our reconstruction
no longer keeps the pace.
time spins
in syncopated circles
until it stops
and we with it

consequential

time drags provincial

dust motes in the air dance sunlit songs

aeons pass
in the gaps between
your words
in the gaps between
ourselves

hidden in the couch
change
consequential
for which
calloused fingers dig

unable to melt
in a moment of content

they must search for the prize
and pull apart the peace
piece by piece

not even waiting for the end of the song