and all his other songs, album covers mostly variations of a homesick grayish-green. Acoustic guitar thrumming through the speakers in steady 4/4 time. The morning sunlight coming in the window clean and bright, arcing across my pillows like a rainbow I haven’t seen in a long time. My walls are empty, or at least some of them are, finally, nails hanging weightless as Noah’s voice when the beat drops away and he leans in for the bluish dreamlike ocean of a finishing swell.
take me out.
knock me over the head with a baseball bat and drag my unconscious form
beneath the shadowed wall. into a wardrobe. a hobbit hole.
wherever you can think to put me, do so. i want out.
i want to make my mark
I go through weeks like I do sheets of paper, or hair ties, or poems.
I use them all up but I can't remember what I wrote.
Years are like that too. Someone asks what I did last Monday
The East Wind is a rabbi in a darkened shul. He sits pored over the Torah scroll long into the night, his back bent like a cane. People come and go and come again, whispering prayers for the needy, the hungry, the sick.
Comments
Log in or register to post comments.