On Words Poem by gershon hepner

Some people think that I’m on drugs,
when really all I’m on is words
on which I sometimes slip, worn rugs.
Impossible as hunting herds
of cats it is to find in rhyme
the reason you hope lies concealed
within my verse, though in good time
you may believe it’s been revealed,
for it’s a great mistake to seek
some sense in herds of cats you hunt.
Though spirit’s strong, the flesh is weak,
above, below, behind, in front,
and words are like the flesh, so don’t
look deeply into mine for sense
or explanations, for I won’t
oblige, because they’re all pretense.

3/4/05