for Steven

"it wouldn't be much of a universe if it wasn't home to the people you love"

This is a poem about Steven Hawking the way the body is always looking for more.

the way the world is streak free from the scab of universal dialog. even when your

not connected/even when someone else's imagination puts you at the privacy of

a giants fingertips. even when you cannot, from your stinky shelf, fall on your knees.

i'm crying, for which i am no more spring than winter. no more human than April. no more a pill

than a paperback written on hillsides. and since is world was pre-moistened for all those

who will rise and because i too am such a scared, disesteem drip: unmarried. dead child.

undescended testicle

this poem is about how groundspeed indulges us. of how my version is not yours. yet at the

most of the day a version shatters the light to undo the morning. about how every

inquiry into space is just pretend time like grade school when Ms. Carol made me sit

facing the wall for talking out of turn. soon the say is over with me racing home with

a note pinned to my shirt. from this I've dreamt to love out loud this living

since life is a pulse worthy of listening too on those 10 inch subwoofer's from the 60's

when we needed Jefferson Airplane way more than they needed us. i drag around this

desire to stretch my legs,  lie down on the rose beach, ache for sand to course inside my a*****e

then to gather the shells of some unknown weeping into numbered circles of earth

arranged by the twists that fire quenched them still alive and wounded. this earth is for you

steven hawking to foam and slob thru the orbitual-habitual half truths of the

souls that still cling to it. on eBook

you can hear Dickinson reading her poetry since the unlucky snails of our insides pretends

us voices, lends us down the old paths of sound like tenderness. tenderness as bold and unreasonable

as death itself. I picture her, hand on spinster hip, near a window and it is cold. I picture

her looking at the same stars as i do/did rising from a rocking position on the floor.

i picture her trying to be quiet

yet careful.

Reviews

[Paul Bell]

Some people see barriers, and can't get around them.
Some people see challenges and conquer them.
As Jacob says. It's all about will.
Plus a little bit of humour to push you on.

[h d e rushin]

everything we write is about will my friend. space is will since that too is other than ourselves. the older you get the louder you have to laugh at death......thanks for those views my friend./ dana

[jacob erin-cilberto]

he was crippled but so powerful....his amazing mind, his amazing spirit and will to live and become...
he did...i like the switch to emily...who watched all the funerals of her friends from her bedroom window overlooking the cemetery and how she spoke for so many who couldn't---
words are powerful things...wills are powerful things...both Steven and Emily had both...the strongest wills to cut through the clutter and tell it like it is...wonder what it would be like to be genius...damn.
powerful poem, dana.
j.

[h d e rushin]

"i wonder what it be like to be genius"? great line my friend....thank you Jacob and good Friday morning to you my friend./dana