I’m listening endlessly to “Simon
and Garfunkel’s Greatest Hits”, hypnotized
by Art’s cosmic voice, Paul’s lyrics summoned
words from past lives. One day I realized
them my own way: sought out Emily by
another name. Looked for America
in New York offices and haunts. One night
stumbled into the whore on Seventh Avenue
just down from Carnegie Hall, her model face
topping a fox stole, her smiling mouth in
near whisper asking, “Do you want a date?”
I begged off. Too costly in so many ways.
Breathless from being a rock, I somehow found
basements with honest voices. Everything changed.
Roger Armbrust
November 28, 2018
