He yelled at me in Greek,
My God! â€”It’s not his language
And I’m no good atâ€”his Aramaic,
Wasâ€”I am a monoglot of English
(American version) and, say pieces from
A baker’s dozen others: where’s the bread?
But rising in the Second Gospel, pal:
The seed goes down, god dies,
A rising happens,
Some crust, and then occurs an eating. He said so,
A Greek idea,
Troublesome to imaginary Jews,
Like a bitter Henry, full of the death of love,
Cawdor-uneasy, disambitious, mourning
The whole implausible necessary thing.
He dropped his voice & sybilled of
The death of the death of love.
I Ã³ught to get going.