Clothed in Heavenly Light,
Neil Peart appeared to me
In a half waking dream
And taught me the meaning
Of his song “Heresy”
On the Rush disc of thirty years ago.
It was important to me
Not only because of the Berlin Wall
But it was the year I fell ill
With this dreaded disease
That changed the whole course
Of my life,
Giving it a purpose
Unguessed by the living,
But to Mr Peart
It makes perfect sense
In the unfathomed ways
Of the Other Side.
The book share on Fremont,
A chartreuse A frame on a pole,
Stands beside a wooden bench
At the entrance to the alley
Leading on a sidewalk to Maxwell.
Perfidious thorny stems to either side
Dangle over the graffiti fences,
And amidst other litter can be found
The occasional syringe.
The builder of the little structure
Lives hard by in a forest green house,
A kind and conscientious man
Named Johnny.
Once a vandal bashed off
The door of the green box
And flung it across the street
Where it lay at the curb.
The crime was symbolic.
I picked up the glass door
Framed with white painted wood
And laid it on the gray seat
Next to the damaged book share.
No note was necessary,
And the next time I ambled by,
The door had been replaced
Silently, as if the elves cared more
Than kids for erudition.
robgradens 