SOME DAYS
Somedays I'm sick of Jews with fake names and movie
stars and starlets with identities of fluff - touch them and
they're gone. Give me something substantial.
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Why can't anything just be what it is? All this subterfuge
'dost bloweth like the winds of March.' I'd like to see
a man off the edge of a cliff, and call it something else.
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Watch that eaglet pacing in the sky. It knows right where
it's going just soaring on high - with specific purpose
it then can dart - pluck and fish, grab and clutch.
Nothing out of reach, and nothing too much.
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