I Am Not a Zelig

I Am Not a Zelig By Sy Roth If not now, when? The Zelig resides Quiet, undefined In my dark corners. Like a chameleon it rests on the warming rock Inert, cold-blooded creature Sunning itself As the ages revolve about it. In the room, they come and go, All the merry Zeligs, Awash in their obfuscation. They blend in so well. I watch them and my brain meanders, My colors a steady stream, While their kaleidescopes Are a whirligig of activity. The warming rock gives me comfort While their cold stares Wrap me in a crinkly, aluminum sheet Preserving what warmth escapes me. The music of their voices Play discordant songs about me And I wonder, Wondrous thoughts that slither among my dreams. I’m warmed into somnambulance Of time, while Zelig souls Eat them hungrily And their color fades into nothingness. I am not a Zelig And I should be happy about it But I frown at the intransigence Of my spiritless, colorless climax.