And Now...A Pause For Some Fine Arts

Moby, the underrated Grammy winning techno-rave musical genius (and follower of Christ, albeit on the liberal side of the family), has his own web journal. On it, when he's not on some Michael Moore-esque anti-Bush rant, he had an entry from a friend of his who writes poetry while on the New York subways (another reason for public transportation: creativity while in transit). His friend Dimitri wrote this (edited one word for language out of care for my readers in case they might be unnecessarily offended), which I liked enough to put in my space. Enjoy.

I Am Afraid
By Dimitri Ehrlich

I am afraid
Of being unduly swayed
Of getting hosed, conned, jimmied or played
That the tips of my most crucial wires might be frayed
That my flight’s been delayed
Of the rich and the poor and the just underpaid
I am afraid
Of the stuff that kids do when they’re in the 9th grade
Of Jonestown, Guyana and the poisoned Koolaid
That the New Yorker’s forgotten the prose of Jamaica Kincaid
Of counties like Cork, Broward and Dade
Of career arcs that sag like that of poor Dennis Quaid
I am afraid
Of the dark and the light and the cool dappled shade
I am afraid
Of that mullet-style haircut with the one little braid
Of loans, unemployment, stamps and financial aid
Of child molesting priests and the prayers they prayed
I am afraid
Of Mick Jagger’s daughters, especially Jade
That the gleam in our eyes will inexorably fade
Of mice, rats, and men and the plans that they laid
That if I don’t rinse my glass, I’m drinking a trace of Cascade
That the Normans are rising and about to invade
Of the places in China, where the things made there are made
I am afraid
That I broke up with girlfriends when I ought to have stayed
That I’ll wind up like the Partidge Family manager, Ruben Kincaid
Of Vodka-flavored beer and Mike’s Hard Lemonade
That my old baseball cards won’t sell well or trade
That there are questions of import I will not evade
That I can’t swim or paddle, tread water, or wade
I am afraid
That the trees blocking my view of the forest are really a glade
That I’ll be unable to sleep in the bed that I made
I am afeard
Of a one-eyed Egyptian with a long cleric’s beard
That the data I sent off by fax has been smeared

That I was raised just to front, but not properly reared
That by the time I sit down my place will have been cleared
That my work will be liked--but never revered
That my hedge fund’s been sheared
That my breakfast smelled weird
I am scared
That my plans will be snared
That my shame will be bared
That the Boy Scouts aren’t really prepared
Of the dirt in my laundry which has yet to be aired
Of the shrink I once went to who just sat there and stared
Of being the last one left standing when the whole world is paired
That I’ll be uncared
Or someone will kill me just because he was dared
I’m scared
Of the secrets I probably shouldn’t have shared
That the damage I’ve done cannot be repaired
That my child won’t be nannied, baby sat or au paired
Scared that I’ll be made chairman and then get unchaired
I’m scared.