That blue-gray rainy day, the blue-gray funeral parlor. There you were laid out in blue and gray. So still.
A subtle movement, a facial expression, a particular posture, the constant hint of danger; as if he were here again,
My father has come to dinner; He does not knock. He is not welcome. He is dead. Yet he insists on joining me
I’m not really here right now. I can only be here when no-one’s a… and I know no-one can see me. Even when i speak to you, I’m sort of not really here.
Water ever seeks it’s perfect peace, from mountain heights to scattered oceans deep. So too our spirit follows
Look out there, see them, boy ? They want yer juice. They’re dry, them circlin’ desert… All they want's yer juice, boy.
Sometimes I worry what you’ll thi… about these words I spew upon this… Not often. Not for very long. What of the form and structure?
No words of wisdom. No clever rhymes. Not this day. Something heavy weighs me down.
My father is dead, still he speaks through me; “Don’t say anything....OR ELSE!… There was plenty of “OR ELSE!” to go around.
Something whispers, certainly not nothing. A subtle impetus to choose to stir and rise
This trembling grief is for a long lost soul, a young, guileless child I once knew as me. I truly believed
I hide here behind a genuine misbelief that I am special, I am different I and only I
How are you? The maiden turned and whispered soft, her turquoise eyes as deep as time.
These words, gently laid upon this page, amount to my sincere prayer they reach within you, and touch your secret self,
1998.... while touring india.... exploring the town of rishikesh a popular hindu pilgrimage site along the banks of the holy mother…
