Haunting Hepburn


She sets her lips in a Hepburn way, with a tiny little smile that questions the day, of which kind of manner will dictate thought, will it be a glass of sherry or a lemon drop. She sounds just like an actor from a sixties script, practicing her lines in her bedroom unkempt, and if she had to guess about the time or day, she would bubble up with laughter, with no mirth relayed. For the truth of all semantics, she mimics, in reflections lost in gray, is she is still a little girl with a wound homemade. For no matter what pop psychology might do or say, her moods a haunted star breathing ghost in dismay. She twirls as a pixie in late afternoon, the mirror upon her wall bemoans the evening like a coming ruin. The future night brings to her a devils moon. What would Audrey say?

The voice comes through mind tatters one might say it forms a part. A Motorola playing while faces dance so stark. “The beauty of a woman from her eyes is a doorway to her heart”, and it does not really matter what her father used to say, “Love from the heart comes through the eyes anyway”. A circle is opened from her auditory part, enchanting with verbiage to her soul and then her heart, and as she moves away, a soft British voice breathes, and tells her all she needs, “Nothing is impossible the word itself says I’m possible”. The answer she believes. The answer she believes.

She wears her hair in a Hepburn way, the bangs at mid forehead, where they will not stray, as she twirls through her bedroom in a fake embrace. What would Bogie say, if he were here to sweep her terrors away? Perhaps, perhaps she whispers to the day, for the night cometh where Audrey cannot stay, where the cold, cold fusion of the hardness of man, and a step fathers cruelty with his sinister hands. If the parts of memory would disappear like the scars on her arms from forgotten years, and who’s to say she can’t disappear, under a devils moon. Find that Motorola tucked away in her room, and transport herself away. What would Audrey say?

The voice comes through mind tatters one might say it forms a part. A Motorola playing while faces dance so stark. “The beauty of a woman from her eyes is a doorway to her heart”, and it does not really matter what her father used to say, “Love from the heart comes through the eyes anyway”. A circle is opened from her auditory part, enchanting with verbiage to her soul and then her heart, and as she moves away, a soft British voice breathes, and tells her all she needs, “Nothing is impossible the word itself says I’m possible”. The answer she believes. The answer she believes.

Certain quotes with much liberty taken from Ms. Audrey Hepburn – 5-1-2018 –דָנִיֵּאל


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Gipsy

Gipsy was a painter riding trains from Mexicana, said he’s going to be a legend from the dates that he survived. Barrio employment with a knife, for kill enjoyment, said he to the hood consortium, I am through with this life, okay. Oh no it’s not okay. For an inch of powder when I was a little feller, I watched Willie Nelson snort a tube, in Juarez it was his vice. It really doesn’t matter where I travel in this manner, my family of La Linea will gather for my life. Gipsy not a fortune, just a killer who will not torture, comes into the land of living, just to take his one last ride. Nothing ever easy, see the teeny honey’s pleasing, don’t you know my mother sold my sister when she was just nine.

So you see here mister, I can talk but pain is clearer, when I just paint each splinter on the siding for a price. For your home of plenty, I would, make it look rewarding, I would change the world, here for you, and I would make your house look real nice.

He paints into the day, the primer takes the blue to grey, and then the sun does rise, I find he paints all through the night, and there’s my house arrayed. It looks like Gipsy’s worth his pay, for all the street can see, my house looks like a skin of strife set free, a rose upon a sea foamed green, and Gipsy smiles at me. I feel so better cleaner than I used to be, the paint it took my sins away, you don’t really have to pay, it’s okay.

Gipsy leaves a whistling after telling me, he’s christening the start of a new day, no pay, mister, your house will be okay. It could be he’s the killer from a drug town on the border, it could be he’s an angel who just had his strife hid away. I doubt I ever see him, in this life he is a leaving, but I won’t forget his words he born upon that day.

I feel so better cleaner than I used to be, the paint it took my sins away, you don’t really have to pay, it’s okay. – 02.25.2015 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Water (A Seers Rhapsody)

A tale underground in a spring you can’t see, a beginning of mystery that calls Galilee, in deep, call’s out deep and the waters recede, in liquid is born a soft stirring sea, a blanket of oceans, a rhapsody. Salt cries the Seer, that binds the wound, I can’t hold much longer, when there is no moon, but hush, whispers secrets that ride on a tide, the wetness is healing, it considers you a bride.

Elisheva she baptizes me, like Schechinah glory, a rite when all is brown, and autumn woos the wounded that would seek a crown. There when no direction would look but down, in pouring water, crystal sheen, so cold with leaves, there mountain spring you set no levees. A sound that cracks wide, a blue lit sky, horizon soaked, what destiny when angels cry.

Here stand I now in drops of dew, as though a tree planted beside this water, and though I view a mighty spring, what fall I see, but still this shallow shall grow deep in due season. This spirit it shall not fall here by Elisheva, and wherever this fount will flow will prosper.

A Seer now in autumn brown, a rhapsody on near this frozen ground. A liquid clear, my hart pants so near this water, this high water.

My soul does fall in awkward rhythm before your falls of mercy. Your mist does rise this lake unbinds and turning finds what eyes were blind can see. This tree unmoved has brought the truth relieved. Deep to deep this high place sea, Elisheva is an altar top, a mood of sanctity. A water found, a Seer’s rhapsody.

It waits you there in places known, where broken hearts can find a home, in places secret, niches found, sisters of water, scriptures of sound. What mourners seeking have lost their strife, found frozen destiny from drops of life, when like a Seer who found a lake, and turned his mind into his fate, and there in water a motion stilled, a question answered without a thrill. A rhapsody on Elisheva’s shores, a sound heard giving, a noise no more.

Isabelle (Elisheva) lake resides high in the Indian Peaks Wilderness near Nederland, Colorado. It is there that a Seer took liberties with Psalms 1 and 42 and in his pain found a rhapsody! – 09.29.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל

Martin Begotto


The question he answers with tears in his eyes, how long is she living, what way she will die. The bed by the window still covered by sun, makes Martin, Begotto, see her so young. A bride by a portal of death drawing near, the silence of waiting, the emptiness of fear. For fifty-six years a wife by his side, he turns his back to her, she dies with goodbye. In softness of twilight, that glistens death’s gloom, he searches his pockets and pulls forth a spoon. With ashes he sprinkles and sighs with content, Martin is grieving his sacrifice spent.

Wait, Martin a question as dark fills your eyes, so much has happened and still you won’t cry? For Martin, Begotto, you seem not surprised that death is your healer, your pain now denied, and what of those ashes that fell from a spoon, what gift is your secret, that covered this room? Your loved one just passed us, your sweet Sherry wife, why do you not wallow in angry wet cries?

Martin, his grimace, a pale zippered moon, a worm in elixir, its breath now consumed. Martin an old man, who fought in a war, who lost half his sons in ways he deplores, why one of them died with strange fire in his blood, another was murdered a stabbing well done. Martin Begotto a man with a spoon, ashes of recall poured in a room.

The ashes of letters burned in the dark, from years of division, when love was so hard, his life in Korea, while she held the home, come back my sweet bunny, I feel so alone. The boys miss their daddy, they watch the war news, they walk in your snow boots, and play your old blues. The records have been scratched, I hope you don’t mind, I love you dear Martin, our laughs and our times. He’s burned all the letters of medical creed the ones spelling death with their boys deceased. He’s grabbed the deep spoon that held lintel and rice to spoon memories ashes, where Sherry abides.

Martin Begotto turns and he blinks, his life with his Sherry is now done complete, whatever he wanted has given receipt, an answer to life, that never repeats. This life is now over, the part in this room, his Sherry is glowing, she’s met her new groom. – 07.20.2014 – דָּנִיֵּאל