Somnambulent in Babylon

Lost in the crowd I shuffle on and nothing
grabs my fancy, each one of us has
our own unique punishment since
tossed from Eden, the years
past by unmarked and
unremarkable, one
indistinguishable
from the next
except
perhaps
by how much
debt has been incurred
compared to the year before
I know what Melville must have
felt being a scrivener while he wrote
Moby Dick, was his publisher a prick
did he make any royalties within his life
what makes us so sure that each one of us
has a unique destiny, does buying consumer
goods make you feel that way, are you any different
than the grains of sand next to you; it is a battle to maintain
one’s identity especially when defined by others and outside forces
like a war hero coming from anonymity and returning to same now that
the campaign is over and I am still not pushing up clover, I remember the
gleam in the quadriplegic’s eyes, there in his wheel chair by the revolving door
he came alive because I listened for two minutes as he described the Battle of the
Bulge which he was in and I was there with him in the retelling, his life had hit the
brakes in that moment and sent him hurling through time and space and he had
not landed yet and nor have I although the odds grow smaller with each day
there must be more than this Land of the Big PX when all is said and done
I will see you in Babylon said Alexander’s Yogi as he walked into flames

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