The letters inside me
Are churning, a bet Changes into a shin, A mem into a tet, The lightning bolt of Thought number one And thought number two Blazes the horizon, Torches chasing each other And the more we learn wisdom And deeds, and leach anger And lust from heart and cranium, Oh the letters are fireworks Or constellations, or streaming Glowing words, my mind rises, still, And pauses its ceaseless screaming.
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Yaacov David Shulman
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October 2019
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