Primordial (a poem)

I am the tramp who wanders American backroads

I am the immigrant who seeks asylum but is denied entry

I am the fool who cries at the drug rehab

I am the fortunate son who squanders wealth

I am the bus driver who drives the Greyhound off the cliff

I am the night-storm that terrorizes the Midwest

I am the space-dust that destroys satellites

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Holy Dread (a poem)

the wise man mutters a prayer

flails his arms in the air

tells me i should not care

about the material world

he swirls in a trance

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Lies about Kabbalah (a poem)

i’m not allowed to study

the kabbalah ‘til I’m forty years old

but I take sneak peeks

(i never do as I’m told)

but that’s a lie!

i’m not jewish & I wouldn’t

understand kabbalah anyway

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