Saturday, April 25, 2015

6652. MY BEARD WAS DRIPPING

MY BEARD WAS DRIPPING
I took the southwest train to Babylon, and before
I got there, it was all gone : the sanctified lieder
of Schubert, nothing of all was left. 'Der Tod und 
Das Madchen' was probably the only one I knew anyway.
At the station, all those females were all gone as well.
Leaving just their clothing behind. I bought a pretzel.
I sat me down. I tried singing of something but
nothing came. Had I been a born Romantic,
I'd have a song, some instant antic. As it
was, I was roasted alive in my own
foul embarrassment.
-
There were maidens too  -  the fairest-haired 
and the most beautiful I'd ever seen  -  standing
around the looseleaf hall, the debating society,
and even the Woodrow Wilson palace  -  but
oh so long ago I'd said all I ever had to say.
About that and about that too.
-
Mystify me, missing one.
Mystify me again.

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