
Dead by Zeke Greenwald
Every morning from his roomI can hear the deed:Boaz at his Jewish prayers,Bound in phylacteries. He is dead, who doesn’t wantComfort from someone;Ajax called out to the skies, notFor god, but for his mom. In my neighbors’ yards, their dogsAre left there all alone:And if you’d walk past you’d sayThere was no master home. Dogs don’t deal in silent prayers,That’s why they psalmodizeAbandoned in their … Continue reading Dead by Zeke Greenwald