Ex Nihilo

I wrote this about 8 years ago and I have never been able to find a place to put it. It is written in the rhyme scheme of ottava rima (abababcc, for you poetry junkies), and I always hoped that I would be able to integrate it into a larger poem.  But it seems to stand rather shakily on its own.

So, I publish it here, out of context, in the the hope that it will find a place on the Internet, if not in your heart or in your memory.


New York: A Fragment


Nothing in this City lasts; nothing is

       This dust, impossible to dust away—

Pollen, maybe, pulverized asbestos—
       The gulf between today and yesterday.
But nothing’s more insidious than this—
       This feeling of despair—what can I say?
Yet out of nothing, next to nothing—silt—
You and I, our Universe is built.

The Terrible Twos

I hope I may be forgiven my two minutes worth of Hate the other day. But when you are fed a daily diet of lies, terror and intellectual capitulation in the face of terror, it is hard not to want to, occasionally, blow off steam.




I usually try to do this creatively, in the manner of a controlled demolition we know as a sonnet. Or I go to the gym and add a few extra plates to my squats. Sometimes I compose sonnets while I squat. These efforts I would rather not publish, however, as they are full of the most unprintable, fraudulent, flatulent noise.

...

Today is a much better day than Tuesday, I am happy to report. We are two steps closer to the weekend, after all. And even though I left my hat at home this morning, and I nearly froze my head off waiting for the 8:39 in Stamford, I have been trying to keep my spirits up: I am avoiding the news and reading a little poetry online.



It is true that, during lunch, I will be forced to brave the cold and run over to the little stall on 45th and 2nd where they sell hats. I also need to run to CVS. So I will try to look at the hat buying today as an adventure--a slight detour into the world of whimsy. I try to look at Life as an adventure, but when I am tired my imagination is not always up to the task.

Anyhow, if you have nothing else to do this afternoon, why don't you tag along? Everyone should visit New York once in their lives. We can cross 3rd Avenue, into the Crimea. The UN is just down the street. And when we come back to the Chrysler Building, foot cream in hand, clad uniformly in our new Balaclava Helmets, ladies will be leaning out of windows, scattering panties on our heads, like laurels, for conquering heroes.


As a footnote, I should like to add that at 5:08pm today, I actually discovered my old hat, the one I thought I had left at home, in my gym bag. I was rummaging around for a pear. Apparently, I remembered the hat, but forgot the fruit.

How damned irritating. I am hungry. And, at 5:00pm, I always look forward to a little fruit.

B.B.

I am not sure what to say about this poem, except that this morning I got up on the wrong side of the bed. And then I read this. I am sick of these creatures. Men who do not appear in uniforms are not Gentlemen.


Nor am I quite convinced they should enjoy the rights to fair and decent treatment which law abiding Gentlemen enjoy.


Fortunately, I am not in charge of our rules of engagement.


Big Brother


At last, his day of liberation came:
Each true believer wept, as he rejoiced;
The doubts the dead consistently had voiced
Disappeared in silence. All the same,

The eyes take time adjusting to the light:
While irises instinctively comply,
Expanding at the thought that one might die,
Other muscles may not be so bright.

You look so naked without uniforms.
I find your informality a relief:
If you young men are chilly, I believe
I might be able to locate some arms

Willing to embrace you. Though, I fear,
The price of that embrace may be severe.