Apropos of
nothing, as we sat
beside the
Purim revellers, the heart
of reason blew
apart, and there was fat
and muscle,
blood and skin, as when the start
of life
experiments with shape, and shifts
to other modes
inside the darkness. Ears
and noses flew
in to the street, and gifts
exploded into
madness, grief and tears.
Surprised to
find ourselves amidst the din
of history,
where tables broke the joy
of celebration,
we looked about for sin--
some mark of
evil's presence, like a toy
distinguishing
an infant's play. Instead,
an infant clown
kept calling for the dead.
No comments:
Post a Comment