Facing the New Year. 2020
I may be moving to Paris
A poetry career,
Unless I get a teaching job in Nunavut
An Arctic Capitol.

I possess
No commercial sell-out
Bad grammar
Even worst typing skill
achieving defectum sin laude
Or failure without praise
Leading to exile from a room without scent of females
Like a dead body never meant for a grave.

No one lives forever.
Some don’t live at all.
Last week Rebbe Shane spoke about the Golem at his shul.
I didn’t understand a word of Hebrew,
After the lecture
The rebbe explained that Adam was also created from mud.
I remembered the legend of Judah Loew ben Bezalel,
The late 16th century rabbi of Prague, and said, “It is all a myth.”
One of Rebbi Shene’s taktil took offense.

“Golem is a legend waiting for his time and as long as there is evil the Golem will walk the earth.”
“What about Dachau? Where was Yossele then?”
One of his students had the courage to say,”Chilul””
I said, “Not sacrilege. Truth. And there is only one truth.”
“And what is that?”
“That there is no truth other than what we find in wine.”
Rebbe Shane said, “In vino veritas.”
We left his disciples and he said, “Sometimes you are a shegutz arseloch.”
“Fuck em if they can’t take a joke.”
“No poems can please for those are written by water drinkers.”
“Horace.”
Latin poet
“Rechtig.”
“And the Golem drinks with us tonight.”
“And all our ghosts.”
“He will be a quiet friend.”
Dank Himmel for that.
I was doomed to drink Kosher wine.
With the Rebbi
After a few glasses
Even yayin kacher tasted good.
To me a goy
To Golem
Made of mud
An angel of death always thirsts for wine after blood.
Especially if he is made of clay.
As the Inuit say in Nunavut.
Kasuutta!
Or Cheers or Lachaim.