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...
Poetry, complaints, points of view and reports from the life of an Immigrant in Israel trying to start over after passing the prime of his youth.