Introducing the Hardline According To
     ...Ofer Maimon

Outline of a pome i won't be able to finish. It runs about thus. Sixteen spokes. And the grey sheets of rain the threateningly dark green forests and the shattered earth and wagons rocking in the sleet creaking wheels and sixteen spokes And the toddlers playing hide and seek in the mud tent canvas stiff and cold in the predawn raising them slick heavy poles the wheel repairman mutter under a frozen breath and over them broken Sixteen spokes. The color of blood. Ruby Soho streaming through the paper walls, my neighbor listening to the radio, having his habitual breakfast on vodka and cigarettes. And I can finish it as much as I could start it.

Not brown not blue and certainly not green her eyes are black mirrors they mirror anything and everything the deep dark green valleys of her Kentucky childhood banjos clear frosty mornings and mountain blues Florida alligator poaches and swamp hues her eyes are black mirrors desolate trucker stop motels at midnight Delancey street in NYC at first sunlight over Williamsburg bridge The one time somebody called her “nigger” and meant it. Her first miscarriage. Her only daughter born. To a man that went to Iraq. Signed on the day after 9/11 and never came back. She misses his smile and his hands trough her hair. brown hands Not brown not blue and certainly not green her eyes are black mirrors the rainbows in my heart as I walk up to her. So I walk up to her.

It´s like a whip in in these project nights as if these high rise concrete buildings where the window lights go out one by one like a whiplash to them skies above in diamond pillars going out as if we were never meant to go any further as we had no choice but to turn the lights out and never ask for anything but sleeping subway trains and closing hot dog stands as if this was all we were promised as we were never more than slaves born only to wake up with the alarm clock siren to another day in the machine making machine As if my patrons of the diesel dunking heart rain shine arteries were never there as if the shining neon snakes that wriggle through the nights of ice to warmth to harbor as if those dawns were never there as if my kingdom of the destitute, the homeless and the drunk were not your fears and punch clock worries as if they did not not guard the tired, lost and weary  As if she wouldn´t  once the kids...

to be selfish is to be by your self at your self and for your self and by your self tailoring every one to your self measuring every one to your self for your self and no matter how many admirers lovers followers disciples you may acquire cajole or attract covering every object emotion feeling life that passes walks talks lives before you with your self in the end being selfish is being lonely by your self

The United States of America what do I care about your super malls and deserted dusty desert highways the lonely light of a homesick highway electra glide patrolman draws a lonely golden creek between the mountains your war on terror communism and drugs lost and won and lost again and stars and bars and drunks and stripes on your shoulders and around and your single mothers working the split shift at Norms your suffocating suburbs with their rows and rows and rows of homes your working class in black and white and your heroes in technicolor apollo, vietnam and saginaw and dead presidents, money on your mind your great lakes who took a thousand sailors to her depths the new jersey turnpike, winter dawning of walden or Kafka or mice of men or saviors in ryes or bright lights big city flakes of ash and soot and snow still falling through your dreams there is a girl in new york city that paul simon called the human trampoline i call her blue for the the colo...

she comes to me in dreams i hear the echoing whispers of her sneakers in the old abandoned storage building dusty cardboard boxes, coffers and long since forgotten luggage destinations never reached in times since long ago committed to memories in black and white i find her by a desk going through an old ladies white leather handbag the black bakelite desk phone looks like it hasn't rung for eons she lifts here gaze and says: welcome to the lost and found department of Long Lost Railroads, how may I help you? when I don't answer, she turns back to the handbag, pulls out a handkerchief i am about to ask her if she works here when she says: you shouldn't be here this late if you stay too long, you stay forever, it's time for you to leave I say: what about you? she says: I lost me a long time ago, i already left I want to ask her if she recognizes me, but as she dials a number on the phone i hear the lower east side harbor din and distant christmas...

closer to kim than you closer to nails than fingertips closer to fire than oxygen closer to life than breath and heartbeat closer to stars than night closer to words than silence closer to skin than flesh closer to spring than wind and rain closer to slave than master is longing to the lonely prayer to the destitute father to daughter wife to husband life to death man to god hope to love the heart of another beating in your chest

good bye im leaving take it the wrong way if you want we were close once which is exactly why i dont want you in my periphery but feel free to take it the wrong way id say youre entitled to i used to say that loves greatest mystery was the intimacy trust tenderness turned strangership and the taste of blood under clasped teeth and fake smiles and anyway people would trade a thousand hookups to one person whoud step between them and those who do what those who do do aint my people aint my tribe aint me I aint much grown an old mans scent and fat bad teeth and so bad breath thats about it but my heart is banging hard and crimson and yesterday i stepped between a broken bottle and a stranger without fear thats me and i know this aint my time but i have no intention to make it mine so im taking my leave if you want you know where to reach me if you dont dont

take my neck let it hold take my liver make it work take my eyes let them see take my heart and make it beat take these bones and make them last another day let me straighten out my back tomorrow when i wake take my feet make them walk take my teeth have them chew take my knees take my lungs and let them breathe thats all one more day then ill be on my way leave you to your own devices let you be your stars are very black tonite your darkness very bright the rain and cold your hiding sun me? according to your mold: very, very young and very old thats all

wake night waiting for the poison waiting for the poison to leave my limbs to let go of the heart let go of my knees and my clenched teeth waiting for the poison for the fear to subside for the anger monster to go away waiting for my poison to break me leave me in tears carry me on iron wheels through the burning rage and bitter hate to sorrowland

truth is I never did know how to love so in the nights I flicked on the screen and let my soul fall with with the cloudy white snow flakes over yet another manhattan new years happy ending and for another 15 minutes falling through the jewel light of the shimmering city skyline I was whole I would steal the one liners from the street florists and the confessions of the heart off the city side walks I'd smoke my cigarettes in the softness of my dark room and blow the smoke through the blue light towards the ceiling waiting savioring them words saving them silver nitrate heart beats for the next girl to show up en route some place completely different such as marriage such as love I can't love and can't sleep so I visit the late night movie shows we sit few and far between I watch the couples when the light comes on they rub the fiction from their eyes and smile to each other drowsily like newborn he helps her with her coat and as they leave I tu...

love just one word one word and so difficult love one single word and a thousand wars and shattered hearts covering the city streets and lonely farm lands paris and beatrix hell purgatory heaven and the smoking ashes of troy love this small word abused conquered lied mended revoked caressed shouted whispered written betrayed suppressed cried silenced forced promised love this one word and an infinity every poet in every time every letter in every alphabet every heart in every era in every land love on word since the the first second was spoken to a cold universe out of love every man every woman every child ever

words simple as trees simple as rain simple as bucket simple as the dirty hands of a child after hours of playing under a clouded sky simple as book simple as care simple as ease simple as an old man smoking his pipe on his front porch watching the autumn foliage words simple as home simple as train simple as night simple as the tired gaze of an inner city cop shedding his uniform after the night shift simple as whisper simple as mourning simple as love simple as the trembling hands of an abandoned man reaching for the bottle as the night grows blacker words simple as death simple as sun simple as water simple as the sorrows of an early summer morning the city broad streets empty to the singing birds simple as wing flaps simple as grace simple as end simple as the hand of light that touches your heart and make you struggle each and yet another day words when I die even if I never said a single thruth if everything I ever uttered was a lie I’ll take them with me

I. you chose another I can’t blame you it took me ten years to understand why and that the time and the man you chose had made you someone i couldn´t have loved had made you another woman and ten more years for me to see that life had made me another man than the one you fell in love with so at age forty now I know what happened half a life ago or do I the tears of joy you showed me running like the summer rain that made your face a window drove the scents of deep green lawns that etched forever in my heart this picture a green park a yellow bench on it a woman that is gone a smile no longer yours behind the camera an aching heart a man no longer me a loss no longer mine

a man a sun beating beating beting burning the surface of stone every single cliff every ounce of breathing air every browning blade of grass far below scorched a man climb a mountain the sweat of his forehead his burning palms his wild eyes every sinue like viola strings gasping fire the third time the last time and the sun blots out every purpose every thought every last bit of pride and vanity even the memory of his own name and what it meant climbing towards hope death redemtion and every moment and every movement and every burning perception thirst sweat pain and there is no more time and there is no more man and there is no more and it is all white and it begins

the world is everything that is falling people leaves debris black stars and drunks from bar stools dices and dead mans hands and queens of hearts like flashlights in mining shafts the world is everything that is falling bodies loosing all humanity in the iron grip of gravity frozen in a leap of eternity the world is everything that is falling the angel of light the god of might our faith the world is everything that is falling our scrolls the splendid universe that we were given and hearts and faith and a 1000 day fast won’t make it better won’t atone for it the world is everything that is falling falling from the towers of babel and the heights if innocence choices, tools, the working hand men – women – children the wisdom of the very old and very young the past and future the world is everything that is falling petals books in empty nigh-time libraries and children finally – our last words an open place where every language failed every world a lie, an imprint every letter over a sc...

she secretly found herself a new lover didn’t like his colour painted him another a short glance to the mirror he noticed said nothing took a shower him his wrist watch corduroy trousers blue and sun ray dancing dust his reflection in the dark computer screen finishing a cigarette for an eternity gets up he says: i’m leaving the door - the thud - the end act II: from him: a letter: i know you know been there to and im older so listen see that corridor? white the end a door? when you decide to leave i say when close it don’t look back no more that’s all me? no fear i met someone to her i am another now try to rest epilogue: still lifes: beeper - cellphone - handheld she secretly grows herself a new colour laughter cars and auction hollers ocean mountain desert: she

We are a people of bullhorns we cry out in the night we cry out in the dusty sunlight but nobody really listens its not that we don’t care but all this digital shouting craving attention recognition has dulled out our memory and we have lost the art the actual knowledge of sound the craft of litening one reed floating on the water surface the hissing of atumn leaves the pounding of our own hearts a creaking wooden floor in an old house long time ago but there is an analogue wisper in the night its present in the vast and lonely coountryside can be heard above the din in the big cities and if you listen carefully over all our bullhorns it speaks of birth death and of rebirth of childrearing and of sowing and reaping od shelter for the very young and the very old of loneliness and leaving room for those to follow it has the power to teach us to direct our voices it has the power to teach us to direct our voices it has the power to teach us to direct our voices and so i will try to listen...

come closer have a look at this picture a black digital military style watch in oil paint tic tac time that’ll pass and passed will pass look - trees on fire bright yellow bright red leaves falling streets dark air dark leaves yellow sky dark blue breathing cool autumn breaths of higher space tic tac time dark blue streets smell of winter like the childhood scent of gas stations cars and petrol tic tac time the soothing sound of diesel engine dunking nights and memories of highrise concrete neighbourhoods asleep and reaching for the ever distant stars as if snow now winter and cloud of ice and snow i feel the biting cold inhaled with every draw of smoke i see this line of people at the end and step away from this picture the dry knacking of a grandfather clock an open coffin closes sound of wooden screws a rite taken place steps on gravel with one swift move reclaim the ever stolen words and fail: night love rain

tunnel the shifting: light shadow light shadow light light shadow soothing like a lullaby the scent of leather drunk and smelly father and son the son asleep on his shoulder his eyes tender she covers her heart in makeup trembling hands pays cash wrinkeled bills her heart a knitted baby hat her eyes longing her hands to hold the distance from terminal to future closing and from the hospital the short distance to their lodging becomes the final rift over which no words can wander old hands and old rings holding on holding warmth old glasses and an old inscribed gold gold retirement watch it is a lullaby they fall asleep no more tunnel and it’s dawn and it’s daylight and it’s dusk and night and i will own the shadows and this light