as i sit in this chair today, i should have explained or found those lost words left, instead choking in my throat
still wondering why your phone number remains on my aged, dumb-not-smart phone while this sure chill in the november air
brings to mind a certain october death and three or fours years of writing once shared and once appreciated
as do the curious memories of deifying the long-damaged..
i don’t wish to be remembered as gruff or pleasants-like when i shuffle off this mortal coil
or thought of as less than by those who truly know me and believe me to be….
how sad a life to be remembered if inclusion meant
being clumped together with the other ragged old hides
those distasteful humans, who with their rhummy cynic’s eye, glean happiness from criticizing the still-hopeful wordy dreamers …
how sad a life to have to wonder if dismissing the new guard brought self-worth or value in the end to the elders…
how pathetic to hang onto a tattered membership card of an old phucks club who while grousing and groaning
watch in denial while their own pens run dry or caustic…
when all they can manage to spit out in a day are mean-spirited wordiness sent off to the angry air
while somehow validating their jealousy maybe, of a twenty-year gap of lost years
while pointing with shaky old arthritic fingers at those with a disciplined youthful, body of work…
know that it all went to hell when an old woman’s clear memories of everybody else’s hero standing drunk and uncomfortable in an old bookstore
was touted as creative writing or wishful thinking rather than TRUTH, not meant to impress..that i think, was the beginning of our end…
still, i hit that google button on occasion when you come to mind and i wonder
if you turned out to be a good dad and if life for you in portland is still allowing you to
ride the juice creative..
i wish you well…
