The Lonely Saint for Lonely Travelers

The lonely saint for lonely travelers
pray to her. She is made of cheese-
She will give until she is used up and just her
rind remains- it is wax

In the sun it shrieks for God's fine print.

She is for you-
you will keep going, eating and she will be released.

(Did you know that if you knew her loneliness
you are likely to stop and get tangled.)

It is to be admired to walk along the earth
to measure its meaning- the face of it
to see it as it goes grey.

Ideally we'd be limiting the greying
but this is what the group wants.

They want to sleep and eat and hope to wake in a better place.

This is how My days are now.
I am an isolate with a phone
I am a visitor who is not programmed to feel welcomed.

What is lucky that I know life is something to be had
because we do not lower our heads to the earliest axe.

So that's there.

From a soaring agreement of birds to a human's head hanging down
I don't know you but I sympathize and I want to love you
the Universe beckons; or waves it's little handkerchief,
hello good bye you over there

you exploring your place, cage, call it as you see it.

you, meaning me, stop your commands you
you meaning me, who always said LOVE!

you meaning me
LOVE LOVE LOVE

Can this be true and throughout?
when there's cameras in the flies, roaches, mice and millipedes
and they bite when they are bored!
Is it all right to say love when one is eating everyone in the area?

Are we facilitating a phase?
TIME TRAVELER TELL ME
and when do you sleep?
what is your heart's desire or mission?

I will try not to judge but I go from Robot Pope to reactor
in nano bites, mini-seconds, spars-

Lights go over me like a goofy saloon but I am open

ALIVE

WANTING

YOU CAN COME IN

there is a bar that I am behind

see me anytime

Air Port Dance

(Two Small Steps then One)

Within these lifetimes one goal is to imagine (repeat)
a life wherein you are everyone: you stretch to the grass,
the trees, the fuzzy moss, the birds the sea and so on. (Stop)

Your splendor courses through the shoots
and you open. (Arms out) In my blossoming I have found
above all the love of friends sustaining. (Bow to Your Partner.)

Let me tell you, this began in quite an opposite way. (Clockwise)
For the mind was a burden
before it learned to turn. (Counter-clockwise.)

Before, (stand still) I thought
standing was for entities above this earth's hurt surface; flowing bright lines, beautiful and satisfied.
In other words, not me. But then I stood. Stand, you can. (Plant a foot then glide.)

Yes in the past I was of a world which hated my words
course discourse: statements made
detailed accounts of life outside humanity. Who needs that? (Get the knee involved)

When you can't see, you describe what you think you see (kick)
reason inky- a brash display of blight
a wish for guiltless sleep. (Now we shake the hands; you may still shuffle.)

However, a light comes down and you are found.
It can find you anywhere and you are evident.
It is scary or it was for me. To be scrutinized.

I'd advise as a preparation to know your own value. Your capacity.
That you can be gathered up and cherished.
Someone can love you. If I can fly, anyone can. (Fly.)

Hi. (Wave.)
Each leaf is new at one point. It takes as much light
as it can hold and then it goes into the ground again.

To nourish by being nourishment (get down)
taken up (then up.) The tree will be your mother (hands on hips.)
Phase one.

The home is never slow as stone.
It is in there somewhere- the door to the heart
can't totally close.

Look, I am impatient
maybe like you. Swiveling my head
and nether zones to figure out what next. (Swivel from the neck.)

This elixir I will lay on you.
Your value and vessel,
your light- a new bright tune. (Whistle and swivel.)

In my city birds can find you.
They may not be your classic song bird,
they prefer a holly with it's points. (Point it out!)

Points to hold off any rash handling
and the red that was the dream of birds
the green that lights the way.

(On your toes this time.) Overhead a blue to remind you of ocean
you of constant forgiveness
you in the know. (Be forgiven.)

This may hurt a little. (Right hand holds left hand.)
Sometimes the soul is kept cold to slow it down
during considerations.

(Zombie Holiday) It isn't dead. I do not remember
what dead is anymore exactly. Our every act
of life seems somehow recorded on board

a bigger being. The conscious creation
of beautiful beings. (Here we swim.)
A dancing. God wants this

to take in your beaming face and form. (Take it.)
God reads your every hesitation (step two then one)
to break it like a code (one, two, three, one, two, three)

That one could be a baby
and a baby be in the center of God's eye
in order just to see the further fields to play in.

(Here we find the field beneath us.)
And one, and one
and one.

Actually, one, one, I do not remember this happening to me
two, three, but it would seem to be what's needed.
(Turn, two, three and hop.)

Blood rises and decides to move something along.
What the one me wanted was to say to someone
something that could move them too.

(Sashay, change places.) Does this make sense? Again.
Does it feel full with you too?
We change places between the leaves of trees.

A curtain folds and others see through.
(Look close and let go.) Their delight is your loving another.
A force pours through from me to you and changes then again.

Refined as for intention.
(We bow to one another again) and that was no picnic: refinement:
when we are tumbled with the stones to smooth the scale's hold.

(Roll to the right.) You will have died.
(Roll to the left.) You have seen them dead
(Rolling on) you have felt yourself dead.

Plow through winter, sometimes you are stuck
when someone tried to warm you up in their innocence
and it only hurt.

You don't have to move. If your fingers feel useless.
Just remember them.
Stay with us, I will change things.

A hurt person is smart to be slow
as lashing out just cracks you.
You stay where you are, I'm coming over- Here I come

(Step and drag) I am late because I was tired. I had to go through it myself.
(One foot steps the other drags.) No one's rushing.
I will rock if you want to sleep.

A snack is by the door.
You are up once more. (Let's change places again!)
the green heart doesn't go away.

It is always growing somewhere
something written on the skin
of the person it's in

"Break my crown!"
was shouted on his back and then my own.
Remember the hustle?

(First you go forward.) That's how I got the crown
(then I tumbled down) it stuck on my head steadfastly
I was uncomfortable (footsteps recessional.)

Do it too if you want. Find out about the phase of it.
Open wide your dry mouth.
Trust me the dust is not the same saying as your tongue.

I have traveled, trust me if you want, traveling music (skip, hop, hop.)
Before going (and now I'm coming back)
I could not fill the vessel.

The arms are water (making like waves)
and now I think I am filling
because I"m so full, I"m overflowing.

(Rolling arms) the ocean too has been called idiotic
by other critics. I am not afraid. The crown upon the waves.
(Join me in the waves.) It's in the hips.

Waves, let me introduce the sand, his friend the salt,
and finally the rain.
(Let's shake.)

One, two, three, one, two, three, one, two, three, hey!
One can have anything in a way.
You turn around, you pick it up.

This is how you actually fill your cup: Ta-dah!

Whatever day this is: that's this day,
I am dancing on my own
my friend is late.

I am in this waiting room
doing the old soft shoe,
the kick ball chain, the 23 ska-doo.

A Dog, A Cat, A Bird, A Thing Known As Human

for Molly

Disappointment is a small island
with a mote. It lives inside a city.
If the bridges are out- a result of constant rain
a resourceful type can tunnel underneath.
It seems to take all your strength
but strength never belongs to anyone- it is always
borrowed. It's delight is changing shape.

There are dogs on this island
but they do not abide by the emotion there.
They wait beside the person, they are a break,
a different thing to gaze upon
when one is retaking, that is, when one regroups,
rallies the troops within
to make the getaway.

You may maintain the dog is dirty.
Some think this yes- because dogs
became compliant at some point.
I know they are no dirtier than I am
though I only know a few dogs; one I knew quite well.
He was eating a dead dog when I met him.
This has never made me squeamish; rather it was impressive.

It was extremely young, the dog, ill-grown, the scary woods
all around him and still he wanted to live.
This I find inspiring. Sure if it were a lad
doing this, I'd always be a little wary.
But that is a biological formality;
maybe even superstitious.
Why should I think I'd be delicious
and he always hungry in that way.

Anyway, as antidote to this there are cats
who easily leap over the water
who dislike water but constantly lick themselves.
They are a little bit social
their breath stinks but they will never admit to it.
They do not see it like that.
They think anyone who'd swim in the mote

or roll over a dead enemy
a bit of a drip. They are critics
but I do not hold it against them so much.
They've been around, after all.
They know they aren't staying.
They know we don't always know how to get out
and rather than sympathy they have developed

methods of taking out song birds.
Those little guys disguised in feathers
who portray the way to freedom:
the open throat, for instance.
Okay sometimes the birds carry germs too
and mice also sing and bring disease
so I see the system a little but still...

One likes and sometimes loves a song,
unexpected, that awaits their own refrain.
I love all birds- even buzzards.
I think the world of them.
I think this world is almost entirely their construction
at it's best. A landing pad.
They practice in the sky who tries to divide them.

The sky is a shifting mirror
a keeper of times. I have never seen the sky on fire
though I have had dreams- the sky inside my head
and dread. That is because I am tense.
When I am in the sky I divide the densities of air
in this way like a sapling.
That's right, sapling, I haven't got the knack yet.

On this island the plants that aren't vines
are primarily bushes and saplings.
There are crab apple trees from which we eat
when we are totally engrossed in the apparent past. We sentimentalists,
future diabetics. We are bent upon the discovery
of the ultimate recipe that makes the crazy crab apples

taste great. We compete in this endeavor.
It's diverting. We are here for a while, after all
might as well do something useful.
And it gets the brain to focus.
Focus: what did I love to take in?
What taste? and was it from the hand that made it?
the salt of their care?

Irreducible love from the one who wanted someone
to have beauty in their mouth?
The care of their craft?
It shows what they love. Trust me, the cooks really aren't malicious.
Don't believe me if you don't want to
but seriously, they are not malicious
which is not to say they don't miss the mark.

That is anymore than anyone specifically malicious.
And too, technically, the work of actual no-good-niks
explodes in the oven
which isn't pretty or fun for anyone
but it's temporary.
And then you know.
And they know that you know.

Not that explosions don't happen from so-called nice guy efforts
but they have different emenant smoke and lights.
Different special effects. Why? I have no idea.
I'm not here to judge.
I am working on my own jam.
I'll take input and inspiration and all that.

The tongue of three beings nearby.
A dog who rolls over, happy and nervous.
Don't worry, here, have my heart, take it off my hands.
And you, cat, have my admiration.
I will make it taste better for you.
The taste can be sour; I see that in your distance
which has it's wisdom-

And the birds
who can go anywhere but are here
the earth's heart's words
in the air-
true I you love
who lift counting continuously
the shifting falling worried numbers above our heads.

Ish Klein is a poet, filmmaker and puppeteer from Far Rockaway. She was educated at Columbia University and the Iowa Writer's workshop. Her work has been widely published to include her recent release titled Union.