| Posted at 08:32 PM on November 13, 2009 |
On the meeting of Rabban Yochanan ben Zakai and Woody Guthrie
Almost Over.
You know its almost over
"Hell no! You never know!"
.
“That's it, It's done"
We're gone?
He and them
.
Even you and, excuse me,
The dog.
They're still here!
.
They're still around!
Still breathing!
Not
.
Breathing
Still.
Yelping
.
Is of no avail.
Time is finally up.
GAME OVER
.
with all the alarm
Involved with that final change.
As Harold Bloom has said
.
Awaits us all.
.
.
.
P.S
.
On language, the imagination and music that bewitches
.
I had to choose between
Alarm and alacrity
As a word you thought existed was denied
Its
life
By melingo and Webster too
.
Are we just like
That unborn word?
That knows no terror?
Real or imagined.
Near the lake
Or on the street
.
In a morning
Or at night
At any time
Terror strikes.
A child on the way to the store
For an ice-cream cone
.
But like alarm
And alacrity
Neighbors in the dictionary
Yet strange and different from
Each other
Passing by on the street
.
Totally unaware &
Tone deaf to the other
They did eventually bump
In to each other
And sat outside the mall
Sipping coffee and watching
.
The people go by
.
Categories: Poetry
