3843. ENKIDU

ENKIDU

The most furtive plea, the ancient of

days, somehow left me behind. My back

is arched now, on some treeside hard bench

in City Hall Park. I sit amidst soda cans and

visitors from Dubuque. I remember, it was,

Nathan Hale who was just here : hanging

from the Thom Paine tree. My God, the

ghosts are thick today  -  that blasted and

heavy white still lingering. The hand in my

notebook, even that no longer looks like

my own. What has gone on here, what?

-

I change identities like you do pants.

I walk through storms and happenstance.

My men are legion as we walk along.

They are building a city while I write a song.

-

An old God, an ancient God, a form of

iceberg and brick  -  breaking through walls

and all barriers of time. Force majeur, and the

invention of Thor's Hammer. All this is everywhere

the same: some pantheon of Gods we lift up and

exalt even as we wither and fall, running out of

time to do it all. No matter the dreams we may

hold or treasure. Life arranges for different things,

and we are so often left behind. Yes, it may be

that these men are building a city, even one with 

the names of God on their lips. But it too will

crumble and fall; their intent they shall miss.

-

I change identities like you do pants.

I walk through storms and happenstance.

My men are legion as we walk along.

They are building a city while I write this song.