To my father
(2013)
1998.... while touring india.... exploring the town of rishikesh a popular hindu pilgrimage site along the banks of the holy mother…
I humbly bow before your tender me… for no other reason than I’m sorry… As I listen to my old pal, Leonar… crooning out his holy tunes, there’s a message sounding clear
How does a landed mariner ever tell a living soul about the exquisite rapture of the sultry siren’s song ? As it echoed through the mist,
Sweet sultry muse, I declare this solemn oath before all that’s true and holy, that this earthly life and love are yours and yours alone,
Ideas and notions, they’re all for the dreamers, worth as much or less than one's considered opinion. You can’t even wrap fish in them.
I’m not angry with you. I am hurting, and as usual, I don’t know why. I don’t know why I cry
Your end? My end? Where the hell’s the middle? You say this. I say that.
The essence of night is her infinite darkness, that cannot be measured by space or in time. She’s as large or as small
Within this pilgrim’s soul exists a hungry beggar waif, who can never afford a moment of indifference or distraction. Alert to every aching nuance
These words, gently laid upon this page, amount to my sincere prayer they reach within you, and touch your secret self,
Clawing away. It’s dark here, chill and dank. Can’t stop now. Can’t stop ever.
My beloved, she has abandoned me. What’s left is a stark white canva… that repels application of hue or… Hopelessly, I gaze into the bleak… She is gone,
It is me. I am stripped down to my most naked intentions; having worn so many coats and less than noble guises.
I was seven years old. I approached the priest in earnest… “I want to take the lord Jesus in… He instructed me to kneel and pray… A week passed.
I stole myself away from thee and me, for love of sweet Mary Jane.