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Image for the poem Who Was She Now That She's Gone ?

Who Was She Now That She's Gone ?

 

 
as if a cryptic night-tune  
                    sealed in the concrete  
                           and substrata of the motherland,  
                                  Brash Brooklyn with a hand  
                                                           in the air signifying  
                                                                              something no one needs  
                                                                                                       to know, as in the Come-Go  
                                                                                                          of the tide(s)  
                                                                                and ghosted prophets.  
                                                              City of Churches, once  
                                                     (it) was called.  
                                      The iconic bridge  
                 crossed many 100,000s times a day.  
        What else, where ?
When could it have been  ?
          in some cursed dream  
                      that my Leah and I walked  
                                           over that stolid walkway  
                                                              into the funk of old  
                                                                                  Manhattan. ? 
                                                                                              O, where'd she go  
                                                                                                              now that she's gone?  
                                                                                              My sweet friend.  
                                                                                     My b'loved travel  
                                                                        companion.  
                                                       Now she's gone  
                                                gone ever gone.  
                                    Passed her life  
                           as if an hour  
                   my dream(s).  
More than a dozen years since we went there to bury sainted Stella.  
Now Leah's gone these eighteen months of eternity.  
They (who Know) say to take comfort in "The Fact" that she's with Stella and all my  
other beloved, dead relations, in some gilded "better place", and I am so, so  
sorry that I cannot some silly childish solace . (I cannot 'imagine' human  
consciousness having the "importance" (to the universe) that it will live in some  
gross,  self-involved ephemera , with all the heavenly hosts. I have No Idea of what should come next, and thus, cannot pretend to participate).  
                            But I, and All, have to go.  
                            To somewhere. To nowhere.  
                            To Some Thing? Or No Thing?  
                             My heart cannot abide This Place  
                                                       too much longer.  
 
 
ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ  
2020dankozakposthumousAnonymoosepooms'n'pixtrs
dkzksaxxas_DanielX
Written by dkzksaxxas_DanielX (DadaDoggyDannyKozakSaxfn)
Published
Author's Note
Out of the blue, into the black'n'white (gray) of random circumstance.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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