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                                                                          Issue 8

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Half moon
day moon

my better half
not here
not there

my better half
where is she


waking up
to no one
beside me
i’m beside
with a pang
of anxiety
how do I live
for the moment
the moment
so dark


the dark sandals
outside her screen door
can only mean a guest
a guest for the night
they seem to be
size 9 or 10
much bigger than mine
I must tip toe away
and make believe
I didn’t see the sandals
pretend I don’t know a thing
and I don’t

David Gershator__



I live in a language
halfway between
ink and blood

I travel on a road
eroded and erased
too many times

asleep at the wheel
I drink the bitter ink
linking paper chains

what I want to say
has the staying power
of hawks in the wind

i sacrifice sanity
to a familiar diet
of roses and razors

I judge no language
of judges to be born
from the exile of black robes

who needs my honey
needs my salt

David Gershator__


Tattoo me with your unpaid bills
hook me up with your masterpieces
your passionate menus pop histories
sacred texts and invoices
write your electric static love affairs
all over my blind body in braille
contact me with your eyes your lips your teeth
biting into mad meat
bribe me with brand new shoes
call me with your moves your movies
your chancy chances your latest dances
connecting ethereal arsonists to all known bridges
call me up with news reports of nuclear geraniums
claiming ten thousand windowsills
and I’ll rise again from hard luck stories
to crash the window cleaning party
of colliding sparrows
reaching for delirious glass coherencies

  David Gershator__


Mixed messages
in the wind

some sparrows some crows
some maple leaves some ash

one night lasting too long
to put up with darkness

another night too short
to deal with the dawn

one half water one half rain
constant lessons from my friend
Mr. Amour de la Boue
champion of the gutter lyric

a wastebasket
can also be a home
for a poem
or a stranger’s lipstick

  David Gershator__



On the dark side
of morning
a bright bird sings

When it stops
the crow is no longer
the poorest king

I’m a gambler
among the tiger lilies
my cat’s been busy
on the dark side

The minute I go out
I step on feathers

  David Gershator__


I know who I am
How can I convince anyone else

I want to tell you something
Feel personality changing,
losing identity
If identity’s like a soup—
missing ingredients

Nightmare, waking up
What am I afraid of
Losing your identity is an old story
but in my dream—
a book that was given to me as a gift—
the pages were blank

Identities erased,
re-construed everyday
The question is who are we
if we’re not ourselves

What makes for such anguish
You’d think you’d rejoice in losing your identity
and taking over the carnival of selves

The dream continues longer than one night, day
Different trails, quests
Where do you put your thumbprint
before giving up and sticking it up your ass

Identity dreams uninvited unwanted
pariahs of night life
ID’s scratching the surface of mind
about to lose itself

We’re treading heavy water here
but what can you say about heavy water
It’s radioactive

  David Gershator June 2017__

© Alejandra Mandelblum: Divine Goddess 2020'
            © Alejandra Mandelblum: Divine Goddess 2020'