Two lost souls from Poland as well as two from the Ukraine and one each from Germany and Venezuela (hail, Venezuela! You know why) have, I presume accidentally, stopped by here. Probably too soon to announce I'm trending.
My better self thinks it's me, all too willing to say
"That was unworthy of you!" when I've done this or that;
My worse self is humbler, but enjoys life more.
If I sneak out, leaving my decent impulses home
Working on drafts of its interminable admonitions,
The incarnation of my dark desires, my corrupted will,
Inquires after its brother's health, transparently concerned.
THE KARAITE
For twenty-six years
Ambel Kahn met sunrise,
Six days out of seven,
At the North Gate
Lest the Messiah come
And no one greet him.
Death made him less
diligent
He’s there now once,
Perhaps twice a week.
Other gate-haunting ghosts
(Beggars, mostly,
Who even in death
Have no place else to be)
Bring him their problems.
(You think a beggar’s
problems
End when he’s buried?)
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