Max Reif Poems

The hurricane hit in 1969,
no matter that it came from inside me.
It was the Big One, a raging fury
that uprooted all pilings, divested me
...

Our world is an island in a great Ocean;
We touch its shore in our crossings, again and again,
Each time forgetting we’ve been here before.
Everyone bears some invisible burden; no one’s slate is clean.
...

And if I write,
how does it mitigate
the difficulties
inherent in living?
...

The blank sheet of paper
is always a new beginning,
a chance to create the world again,
...

You know the joy
of scanning radio stations
while driving a vast,
uninhabited area at night,
...

I've resisted the intrusion
of technology into my life —
more than some,
not as much as others,
...

I speak for all the poems here
in thanking the management
for removing the ads
that were draining off our blood.
...

You wait, always wait,
equally places and states
of mind:
...

Does the endless 7-day cycle
our lives are structured into
get worn like an old leather binder
that's been opened again and again?
...

Three or four repetitions
of a mental picture
of the location
...