Mystical, magical, a satyr in a Volkswagen.
I don’t take my religion seriously. I spent
yesterday at the tomb of the unknown rabbi. No
wreath because flowers are verboten, they wilt,
leave a stone, better a boulder, but who
can pick up a boulder? I’m kugle in the world
of supplicants. No, a satyr, although my libido
is diminutive. The earth is a cellar. Lust illuminates it.
Look!—you see spiders laying their eggs.
If I sound nuts, it’s because I don’t take
my religion seriously. Things bubble around me,
and I’m baffled. I climbed a minaret once and hailed
the universe. “Say something kind to me,”
I shouted. It did or it didn’t, I’m not sure.