I have a
huge collection of old songs.
Asked to
name them I'd fail.
But
given two notes, or a word from the title
I might,
to your distress, sing all of "Alice's Restaurant".
Recollections
own my consciousness.
A piece
of rye-bread invites
The
neighborhood Brooklyn deli
And the
taste of strong mustard.
"Don't
ask" carries me to "ask not"
And
Kennedy's inauguration speech.
From
there it jumps to an infinite series of connections
Until
all synapses are energized.
Perhaps
there is only memory,
Distorted
so that we may endure its repetition,
Apply
its message to this moment,
And so
respond to our universe.
Of
course we might devote our life
To a
continual quest to prove
Our
superiority to Morty Frumberg,
Or to
getting mother's approval.
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