Literary scribbles from New Jersey Transit
Poetry for the High Holidays 5765 I am allergic to prayer I am allergic to prayer. I write in the other slot. Forms on a latex clipboard. Doctor’s waiting room. Checking off my imperfections. To the rhythm of smooth jazz. Soundtrack to boredom. Supplications too. And exultations, hoshannas, Even hallelujahs. I’m experiencing recurring liturgical aversions. Is there some form of anti-something? A booster shot? An elixir? A purple pill? At fifteen I took a hayride around Stone Mountain, Georgia. The…