My Words

Understanding the World through words

Palm Reader

Do you believe in palm readers?

They see all the crevices
In your hand.

They have a story for each one.

Hold your hand in theirs,

Touching the lines.

Look you in the eyes—

These hands are the hands

Of an artist,

They will make you a million dollars, wait and see.

Since then my hands have made things.

Since then my palms have
caressed things.

Since then my fingers have
said things.

Hands have hidden stories,

Waiting to be told.

Hands can read.

Hands can heal.

Hands can kill.

Hands cover my

and turn the page.

Hands can say no

Or salute you instead.

My hands can feel

What that palm reader

Once felt to be true—

I’m good with my hands.

It’s there in the crevices,

the many deep crevices of my


We named our third child

Swinging on a country playground
in Texas with my wife.

Levi, sounded like a
Good Texan name.

My life was at a cross-roads
Then, reflecting how I feel today.

It was the start of a new
Chapter in the book
Of our life.

Levi’s birth reassured us things
Would be alright.

God loves Levi so much He
Ordained him His personal
Minister on the foot of Mt. Sinai.

Somewhere it says, “…if the moon loses its luster and the stars stop shining, then my servant Levi will stop being my minister forever…”

As far as I know, the moon
Is renewed from month to
month like a well
Functioning clock, and

That solemn oath still stands,

Since the stars are as brilliant
As ever,

Nightly covering the Earth
Like a blanket of unbroken promises
Made to our prophets and sages.

Promises made one lone starry-night to Abraham our father.

“Look up, count the stars, that will be how many your progeny
will on day be”,

He having none at the time, I’m
Sure was mesmerized, by the
Uncountable flaming dots.

Levi’s birth marks a festive occasion.

My father before he passed asked me
To take care of Levi, he loved
Him so much.

God also told Levi’s 11 brothers to watch after their brother…

It all started on that fateful night,
promises fulfilled not only to me but to our father,

Who stood there gazing at the stars thinking incomprehensible
thoughts of the
Many possibilities and the future,
The future birth of one more son.

God Grant Me A Wish

God grant me a wish,

Just one!

I know world peace

Is someone else’s dream.

I need to be authentic,

I need a wish that’s solely


I want an original wish granted, I’d

Love to find hidden gold, but

I know the conquistadores and their mothers
Wished on that one…
And all The 49ers that
Made their way to
Gold country
Obviously did too!

The wish of fame and fortune,

Those wishes are blasé, I’m
Sure just about every
Hollywood star has wished
That one before.

Strolling down Hollywood Boulevard confirms
Those wishes have all just about come true.

You can see those
Wishes materialized
In Beverly Hills and on
Malibu’s pristine beaches.

Nowadays, the wish of
Fortune, can be seen up and
Down the California
Coastline, prices have
Seriously gone
Up since the Sixties.

The wish of love, some people
Wished they never wished for
That one. The courts are full
Of those wishes being
Defunct, thank God I’m not
One of them, I’m happy in love.

Now that I’ve gone through
This little exercise,
I’m running out of wishes,
I can see
Some of my prior wishes
Have already been granted.

They’re the ones that
Call me, “daddy”
Embracing me every time
They see me anew.

Thank You, God,
My little wishes,
I love
Each and
Everyone of them,
Much as a grown man
Can love wishes
That come true.


Break forth
glorious sun
shine once again.
I need to feel your
loving warmth.

I’m cold and shivering,

It’s your fire
I passionately desire.

To bath in your
wondrous light,

To feel the radiance
of your powerful glow.

caress my longing soul, and
help me to always, always grow.

I want to sense the
tingle in my skin when I
feel the touch of
your heated embrace—

from the tip
of my sultry head down
to my sullen toes.


Why don’t I go, why am I
Staying away, it’s only because of embarrassment, my journey has taken an unexpected fall.

I’m three steps from homelessness, seriously penniless, and unfortunately, currently unemployed.

I have a beautifully large family and they need my provision, my cooperation. My priorities have now dramatically shifted.

I’m in the early stages of trying to rebuild, living off the charity of loved ones who delightfully have taken us in. I thank God for them, even though it gnaws at me from within.

I feel frantically useless, as if I was somehow tied to my now defunct business; as if it defined my manhood, even though deep down I know it didn’t. Now, I’m double-guessing myself. Confusion comes with the territory I’m running on.

Look at me now, in this great country of ours, if you don’t have a job you’re nothing, less than zero. It doesn’t matter what you’ve achieved in the past. It’s only our current state of success that defines us.

I take mental comfort in knowing that at least, if I was in Europe as an unemployed poet, I’d still have a semblance of dignity. People would say, alas a true artiste, look at how he suffers for his art!

Instead, in my great country art is considered leisure; something someone does as a hobby. You’re only admired if you make tons of money. It’s only then when people take you seriously, nobody begrudges a cash cow, no matter how silly it is, or how degrading your work becomes.

Cash cows are worshiped exactly the same as they were worshiped at at the foothills of Mt. Sinai, nothing has changed since then.

Life without suffering is not the life of a poet.

I’m not going because of the state I find myself in, vulnerable, needy, insecure, a terrible loneliness has enveloped me, a familiar blanket I’m supposed to wear.

I’m secretly suffering, I want to achieve things just like everyone else does. I have goals and purpose, but nothing has materialized; I’m just sitting here in a corner of a cafe whining about my life, wishing my life was in another place.