Shock anguish and deep dismay
on that bright September day.
Barbarians come to our gate:
false Islamists coerced by hate.

Twin towers turned into twin plumes,
thousands sent to fiery dooms.
people falling from the sky;
desperate choices, how to die?

Did you think that we would yield?
In Penn's Woods a cratered field
gave first hint of what was awakened,
complacency was then forsaken.

luxurious aromas mingle
in tall mahagony rooms
cognac snifters clink
and twinkle
in the glint of chandeliers

as for me,
I'm tipsy
leaning cooly in a corner
twisted in irony
bored
and condescending

then I see her
and I'm suddenly intrigued

womaness aglow
latticed in spicey red heels
playing it haute and haughty
deeply lost in a reverie of hopefulness

and I want to hold her
enfold her
gently
in my arms

that, or either
slap her out of it

What paper and pen I use
Does not matter,

What diction I use and style I write in
Does not matter,

Whether or not my words are ever written
Does not matter,

For ink will eventually dry,
And paper will burn,
Even words are eventually forgotten,
It is true,
No matter what you say of legends and thinkers,
The words of those who sought immortality,
Will eventually fade,

And what matters most in verse
I will never understand,

And I shall continue not to write
But to feel,

did she tremble as the stag horns burst through
icy, untouchable
pointing judgments of
the poet as housemaid
the laureate academic
collecting a pulitzer for his first dead wife's work
His best friend and true wife stood seven years
before ground sleeping pills and a gas oven
ate the air, the daughter too.....mouth open lips purple blue
did you get him back? He married a year later
Assia the Lilith of this tale.

I wonder

if in afterlife are you in tornado caterwaul with Sylvia