A Cleave poem you should always attempt to see in looking at the canvases the frames hanging on the walls around you what they are providing and contextualizing rather than true reality for what you’d like your careful perception to amount to could very well fail you tomorrow or some day later How to read… Continue reading Perception, or: Reality
A Cleave poem I dissolve like instant coffee and artificial sweetener in boiling water tasting almost natural but not really because it becomes me, infuses my neurons even as I recline backwards with greater force than caffeine upon my spinal cord ever did pensively, even more so than when I drink Black Label Brewed Coffee… Continue reading Sugar, or: Cream
My 2nd Cleave poem she loves his gruff voice, his calling card that he leaves his hot temper by his shoes neatly by the door, now ajar, open to a world well known to her that could offer support whenever his arm rises up into the air should she need to make his tyranny known… Continue reading Barefoot, or: Naked Truth
My 1st Cleave poem there’s no rhyme to what poets write and what poets experience how they are understood when they are read by critics picking their fantasies apart / from from stacks of books delivered by publishers, not knowing the rhythms of their hearts them and their little birds fluttering so vulnerably yearning hoping… Continue reading Sign, or: Delivery
The Skeptic's Kaddish 🇮🇱 
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