6767. 'MIDST ALL THIS HUFFING AND PUFFING

'MIDST ALL THIS 

HUFFING AND PUFFING

I've not come here to donate my time : French Foreign

Legion and all that stuff. I'm just looking at pictures, but

you're worshiping the dead. Bob Dylan and a nomenclature

of factoids, things long-gone on dull acid. Here, once

more, my black and white dog lies at my colored feet.

-

I was once a man of the cloth  -  dishcloth, washcloth, what

you call. That was my call. Vocation? No, vacation, or

can't you see the difference? There were little boys wearing

kites and bloomers, and long old men overdue at the grave.

People said prayers to their own faithless Wotan.

-

When I turned 17, I got up and left : I walked to the bridges,

I walked to the cliff. I entered the harbor. I joined the Harley

Boys, the Scouts, even the Seven-Eleven Merchant Marine.

Now I'm back from all that, and I might marry your daughter.

-

This briefcase is heavy with dulcimer plans, the rumors  

of slaughter and the blood of the lambs.