Thursday, October 10, 2013

Song of Jeff Goldblum

I celebrate Jeff Goldblum, and sing Jeff Goldblum,
And what Jeff Goldblum assumes, I shall assume,
For every atom belonging to Jeff Goldblum as good belongs to me.

I loafe and invite Jeff Goldblum,
I lean and loafe at my ease, observing the effects of chaos on a dinosaur theme park.

Jeff's tongue, every atom of his blood, form'd from this soil, this air,
Born in Pittsburg of parents born from parents the same, and their parents
the same,
He, now sixty something, is still perfect
And I hope he ceases not until death

A child said what is Jeff Goldblum? fetching a framed portrait with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I cannot define a force any more than
I guess it must be found in classics such as The Fly, or in the background in Annie Hall.
He was a friend in Nine Months, and a lover in Earth Girls Are Easy.
The dark and dreamy scientist in Jurassic Park, and a fearless hero in Independence Day. 

I saw him once, from afar, in the light of the follow-spot.
Slender and dark. Tall and Handsome.
Speaking the words of Mamet, on a stage in London, England.
And to that I hold. My moment with Jeff Goldblum.
Jeff Goldblum, and I.

And since, I have seen him,
In Portland
Father in The League
The One with the Mugging
Investigating Criminal Intent
Alongside Tim and Eric, great job.

I sing a song of Jeff Goldblum, and my voice is never tired,
and the sun is never brighter.

He will hardly know who I am or what I mean
But I shall be good health to him nevertheless.

Failing to fetch him at first keep encouraged,
Missing him one place, I search another,
I stop somewhere waiting for Jeff Goldblum.

*I am hoping "the Poet" will allow my artistic license in celebration of such a man. Either way, special thanks to Walt Whitman for singing of himself.

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