At last, at last, as you enter the Zone,
tired, or not, of the ancient world, elders
leap at your verse, under forty, of course,
as you enter the Zone, try to regard
senile old men with a lack of respect,
to dismiss sexist, bigoted monkeys,
as you enter the Zone, sycophants play
the fools, gushing over your verse, poems
left for others to declare their value,
as you enter the Zone, traipse carefully,
still rotting corpses of older poets
thrown aside for age, too old to be young,
as you enter the Zone, disregard age,
smouldering embers, crematoria,
yes, the Holocaust offered us black milk,
on condition we remember their loss,
under the circumstances, we forgot,
enter the Zone to remember their lives,
no one remains after one hundred years,
traipse carefully over the dead, your life,
entirely your own to decide how words
reflect the Final Solution, Shoah,
the catastrophe, no need to deny,
human neglect, we forget history,
enter the Zone to remember their pain.
Zōhar speaks of light and splendor, the Zone
over the dead, ashes, wisps of lost souls,
neglect to remember memories burned,
enter the Zone to remember their love.
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