I forget, and all the letters
Of my thoughts scatter, And they don’t come back home Till the light floods my habitat, or The home of us all, as Memory drives back to the mansion. All these thoughts jostle To fit into a scansion, They shine flashlights On each other, but fade to a wisp, I forget, and my words Are fried to a crisp, Till I can’t stand your thoughts 'Cause they stand in my way, And I douse you with coffee In this lousy cafe. And the job of some people (Who are wiser than wise) Is to open the vents And blow the smoke from our eyes, And restore our poor minds On this rattling train, Rocking and shaking To our original terrain, They gather the scattered, They rope in the strays, They restore the poor herd To the start of its days. And the vine whose leaves Are dusty carmine Produces fine grapes And a truth-glinting wine.
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Yaacov David Shulman
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October 2019
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