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Oct 22nd
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The Poems of Dane Cervine

ae DaneEditor’s note:  Dane Cervine’s poems have won, or been finalists for, awards from Adrienne Rich, Tony Hoagland, The Atlanta Review and Caesura. His work has appeared in a diverse range of publications, including The SUN Magazine, The Hudson Review, anthologies, short films, animation, newspapers and online. Cervine serves as Chief of Children’s Mental Health for Santa Cruz County, and has a small private practice as a therapist. Visit danecervine.typepad.com.

How Therapists Dance

Washington DC after a conference,

we head into the urban night

led by the jive-talking white ghetto boy

raised in black foster homes

bent on showing us the town. We

wander from night club to bar,

a mix of Black, Asian, Latino, White

earnest saviors eager to party, to strip

the mind of diagnostic prognostication,

to revel. Eventually, one by one, our group

slips back to the hotel till I am alone

with a young black woman who says

I want to show you one more place.

Down an alley, she leads me to a club

where I am the only white face in the joint,

and while she is gone to the bathroom,

the owner saunters over, asks how I’m doing,

says if you have any trouble here, come find me.

And I am suddenly more alone

than ever, till my young friend returns,

looks at my anxious face, smiles, says

this is what I wanted to show you.


Enlightenment Is a Bitch

At first it isn’t so bad—a taste of ecstasy,

the world covered in honey. Even snails

scrawl the names of Buddhas with their silvery trails.

But then, too much. Pears become unbearable,

wet white flesh so tender one could perish

contemplating the first taste.

Meditation becomes oddly redundant,

attention now like water, absorbed in tree-root,

plumbing; even fire hydrants with their red

stubby arms become mandalas, and worse,

the police siren revving its wail behind

my slow-moving car sounds like a mantra.

Even my wife’s complaints about me finally

sound true. I just bow. Kiss her slender hands.

Carry the garbage outside, but damn! The moon!

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Santa Cruz Restaurant Week

A huge part of Santa Cruz Restaurant Week has always been about offering a great dining experience for an affordable price. For some locals, the $25 flat-rate cost has provided the opportunity (or the excuse!) to try new spots, and indulge in Santa Cruz fine dining in a way they might have thought too pricey before.

 

Scorpio Sun, New Moon Eclipse, Mercury Direct

The Sun enters Scorpio’s mysteries Thursday under a new moon and partial solar eclipse (something essential has come to an end, its purpose completed). In Scorpio we harbor secrets, are devoted to something deep, dark and hidden. Sometimes it’s ourselves. We can bring great suspect to our assessment of others. Scorpio is the scorpion, the serpent and the eagle—three levels of development. As the serpent we take shelter in our beliefs. Sometimes we bite (or sting). The eagle vanquishes old beliefs through its sharp intellect, soaring high in the air, seeking to understand through perspective. Understanding releases us from the bondage of fear. The eagle is like the mother soothing feelings of mistrust, offering protection. Knowledge does this, too.

 

The New Tech Nexus

Community leaders in science and technology unite to form web-based networking program

 

Docs Without Borders

United Nations Association Film Festival showcases documentaries from around the globe
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