david jewell poet

words. photos. images. whatnot.


siri something

Just drinking my head on straight this season and then I’m just trying to keep it together and going straight line quick turnaround quit walking backwards you know I just want you to do big circles you’re going really big circles from the spirals where I’m ever evolving out was a little bit you know then maybe going straight line once in a while because I got to keep my feet moving forward and like I wanted to a lot of things so much energy in a day and I get worn out really fast and then also watching TV and everything goes haywire I just don’t really like watching the TV anymore just leave it outside

siri poem midnight delirium

diari unui mgeni.

entry 2


Excuse me miss which way were you talking when you were walking backwards inside my door I’d like to know if you were leaving or coming in because you were moving towards the living room but often backwards like you were leaving then you carried those candlesticks to the bedroom and put on a negligée so I figured you were staying and put on some soft music so we were dancing around on the carpet (cutting-the-rug) a little bit I can’t remember any problems anymore can’t remember.


time with fuzzy edges.
time leaking linearity.

sitting on an airplane one afternoon.
on my way home from visiting my father,
who was finishing his life, and would be gone
in a few months.

I’d been looking through photos of my father
when he was a child.
I could see him as a child, and I could see him
as the man who was my father when I was a child,
and I could see him as he was then, a man
preparing to say good-bye.

I was sitting on the plane looking at all the other
passengers. We all woke up somewhere that morning.
Groggily. Knowing we would travel. And we would all
fall asleep somewhere that evening. Cozy. Having arrived.
Now we were in the air.

I could see them all as they were when they were babies,
and I could see them all as the people they were right then,
and I cold see them all in the future somewhere,
leaving their bodies behind.

And time.
What is time but a practical and ridiculous way of slicing
tiny slices from a lovely round cake that we could enjoy
just as well, if not better, by keeping it whole, and sharing
all the moments, each and every, now and always, as one.

and whether it is what you needed to grow,
or something that sort of destryoed you,
how would you ever know



k. casi leaping to the stars



breathe again
no choice
no horserace
nothing up my sleeve
another breath
and then
these thoughts like rainbows or
other things . . .
loop-de-loop spirals pretending
to be real. as real as imagination.
on and on.
we’ve heard it all before.
they all keep saying the same thing.
but whoever this is here writing this is
still an animal that likes sugar and cuddles
and lives more of less for
comfort and not victory of any kind. . .
would just as soon be cozy
on a rainy day and play scrabble with
loved ones or any friend than
go fight or get noticed or hear someone
say look at that, you did it,
you left your mark,
right there.
what mark? I just want
acceptance peace