The empty diary page lies: the truth is told by google search history.

Following us all day, we follow it and it follows us.

Getting to empty, spending all that fuel, spinning it into a story.

Combining the full and the empty, the word and the breaking space.

A prayer for parking space

Master of all space and time,

Lead me to a space in due time

First mover who dwells in sacred peace,

let my motorized mover find rest.


O he who led the Israelites in the desert

To forty-two spaces of rest

Show me one dear space

Let me not wander for forty years in vain.


O he who released his people from bondage

Let the space be a legal one

And let us not be hindered by alternate side days

Or surprise tickets handed out by men in blue.


O he who contracted his everlasting light

To make space for all being

Let the automobiles on the sides contract

To make space for my humble vehicle.


Keep us from scratches and from dents

Save us from crashes and from bumps

Show us your ways and let us ascent


Winter A Poem

Winter yawns

Its frigid gasps

Dropping leaves

My body cleaves

The warm flesh of

My beloved’s body.


Bodies mingle

Lover and beloved

Colorful falls

Weeds and leaves

grass and trees

whistle as they fall

a slow song

to endless cycles.


love and hate

birth and death

rebirth and remind

refresh and reverse

the universe.


To show you

I love

I walk in the breeze

Of a falling leaf

It makes me believe.


We will fall

We will walk

We will stumble

We will turn colors

We will run

Into the day.


Beautiful rain

Leaves be fall(ing)

Creative play

Endless wonder(ing)

What can it mean

Snow be melt(ing)

In the spr(ing).


Whistling winds

Burning bushes

Dancing lightning

Screaming fog

See the day

It goes away.


I do not know

Erased my wants

Delete destiny

for now it is all –

A falling leaf.


(Off the burning bush

It fell, and blew off

Riding the wind.

To the scholars of independence

It calls and proclaims

My winds have no shame

Cannot hold any blame)


It spoke

And rained on

The others say –

All it did (was)

For another day

שבת שירה

Where weary travelers
on lonely roads
passed one another
in endless pursuit
of each other.

Don’t go
The straight way
You might get lost
In the allure of easy.
Take instead
The wandering stick
Your blood and bread
Carry your weight
Split the sea.

ולא נחם אלהים דרך ארץ פלשתים כי קרוב הוא

Sing to me, O
Lovely bird.
Sing to me, you
Beautiful fairy.
Sing to me,
Lord of Praise,
Tell me all,
It will be

Words wandered
Contradicting each other
Each peeking
To another day
Sometimes they rhymed
Only In another language
Their sentence structures made sense,
In another dialect
Their letters were legible only
By modern laser vision
And they wept
If only men would see
Our creative harmony
We wouldn’t be delegated
To the heaps of editors
Forcing their language
On another world.

Some people say It’s cryptic poetry, to me it’s the most lucid representation of mind, to which direct prose is convulted and cryptic.


A Nimshal
To all the parables
A Pitaron,
To all the dreams.
The thing in itself.

After splitting the sea,
God said:
That was hard.
After watching people
Wade through relationships,
Split seeds to bring bread,
God Said:
I shouldn’t complain.

קשה זיווגו של אדם כקריעת ים סוף, קשים מזונותיו של אדם כקריעת ים סוף.

Did the sea split,
Or did it crack open
Bursting on its burdens
Did the waters part
Or did they break up,
Having had enough.
Perhaps it ripped,
By force of passion
Spilling all waters
Into the one.