Poem #7 (by neil)
I do not hold on
To the “I” you call neil.
My body will become another body,
Stronger with new cells,
new cells will come again,
bringing someone else’s week body.
A voice will have a nuance,
It will be alien to my voice.
I will never be gone,
Because the “I” that I hold on to,
is already dead,
has already been born,
is dieing,
is being born,
will die,
will be born,
again, and again, and again.
Again backwards,
As well as forwards.
The “I” I hold on to belongs to Earth,
belongs to mass.
neil Schaaf at age ten,
he is a tree, a dog, a river,
a car, a building, a vibration of noise,
coming out of my stereo.
How can I die
Anymore than I have already died?
Or anymore than I’m dieing now?
The writer of this story
sits next to you as you,
as you read it,
like a ghost with his arm around you.
Meanwhile someone is calling something neil.
Neil Schaaf
On an oddly warm night
I was strolling down locust street
on my way to buy a hoagie.
When turning a corner
I bumped into god.
I knew it was him
with absolute certainty.
Overjoyed I grabbed his hand
and shook it vigorously.
What an honor
what a treat!
to be with god himself,
I hoped he'd never leave.
And leave he did not
he stayed and stayed,
he treated me to his presence
and we walked on to the park.
Not even 5 minutes had passed,
since our meeting
when I spotted something shiny,
and I raced off to see
what I could possess,
or what names
could possess me.
God was left alone,
he chuckled and waved goodbye,
He continued walking
in the direction he always walks.
Neil Schaaf
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