Two Towers

Standing behind the crowd in the Auditorium, looking down at The Wasteland and more importantly The Poet on a pedestal who We were in awe to see. We bow And say blessings to the lord of the Modern moment where everyone realized We were doomed. That the industrial gloom Would blacken our minds as it had Already blackened our lungs And blinded our windshields Our eyes in the dim lit neon spectacles, wept. This was my experience from the lectern. And I worshipped for many years the Quartets and the high-minded — I don't Understand — Get the Encyclopedia — language

But, this was Modern?

Now I reckon upon a more clearly modern mind

Here I find The Red

Wheelbarrow And a delicious Plum

And I am completely satisfied

By nothing too Mythic At all (save Unicorns & Beasts) Just A Waterfall

Of images and words That float along on pages

The rhythm Tapping its foot – – – Variably – – – –

Changing Before you know it You don't know it You don't know why

It has changed But it feels So right.

Justified on the page to fit Left and right Right and wrong Tomorrow and Goodnight

The Wanderer The Sparrow The Woman The River

The Man The City The Poet Founder

Of the plain Every day And therefore Devotionally and divine poem.