Sometimes I feel like Barton Fink,
These days and over here,
Romantic fool enough to think
My words could find an ear.
On other days – my gender switched –
I stand in disbelief
Twixt goofs and lunatics, sandwiched
And feeling Enid’s grief.
And then again my name is Randle,
I make a difference,
Until my mind shrinks like a candle
And there’s no Indians …
Yet finally I see it clearly:
Not Jim nor Abigail
But Nobody I am, sincerely,
And Nobody’ll prevail.
Published on 3 September 2019Heyoka