Well, This is Fun

Tonight I have a slight temperature and am feeling wan. If I miss time next week, the semester will go to hell, it really will. As a teacher, I'm a bit of a dervish, a magician who locks himself in the water tank and swallows the key. Nothing I say makes sense until it all comes together at the last minute. (I'm an artist.)

Fever. Fever.

My mood is sour. Watched about 20 minutes of the Sarah Silverman movie and decided a little bit of her effrontery goes a long way. Perhaps, at this moment I just don't need any reminders that we are all hypocrites, that irony and cool and disdain have run so thoroughly amuck that the frontiers of outrage are way way out there where the stars grow cold and the leaves of the judgment book unfold.

We are in real time now. Where did that last line come from? I Google and discover a poem that, as a teenager, I tried to memorize so I could recite it to you, MP, but never did. Which (I think) was just as well.

I will now recite it to my wife.

1.
From the desert I come to thee
On a stallion shod with fire,
And the winds are left behind
In the speed of my desire.
Under thy window I stand
And the midnight hears my cry,
I love thee, I love but thee,
With a love that shall not die
Till the sun grows cold,
And the stars are old,
And the leaves of the judgement Book unfold.

2.
Look from thy window and see
My passion and my pain.
I lie on the sands below
And I faint in thy disdain,
Let the night winds touch thy brow
With the heat of my burning sigh
And melt thee to hear the vow
Of a love that shall not die
Of a love that shall not die
Till the sun grows cold,
And the stars grow old,
And the leaves of the judgement Book unfold.

3.
My steps are nightly driven
By the fever in my breast
To hear from thy lattice breathed
The word that shall give me rest.
Open the door of thy heart
And open thy chamber door
And my kisses shall teach thy lips
The love that shall fade no more
Till the sun grows cold,
And the stars are old,
And the leaves of the judgement Book unfold.