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Elegy On My Matriculation
[September 9 through November 22, 1976; my first term
in the unversity]
(to my friends on CB channels 12, and most especially 22;
whose voices I shall likely not hear again until Heaven)
The heat death of the universe must be
like this (except on an enromous scale)---
when all the comforting connections fail
and fall into still, silent entropy.
The voices of our dear beloved are
lost in the distance like a final chime.
The fading bodies of each dying star
litter the measures of both space and time.
The old home places, twelve and twenty-two
(most gracious) sputter in my memory.
The last light's glow is rust red, not soft blue,
as I am thrust out, through matriculation,
and left in this place: it feels like damnation,
and scoffs at old-time, born-again Salvation.
Starward
[*/+/^]
[jlc]
