Garcia Lorca, born today, today I love you, like everyday but today I weep for this love and its end on a moonless night.
a short vignette of sorts…
Garcia Lorca, my Federico – a poet born to violent end
we sing you, decorate your memory with flowers
we sing you and your thousand gypsy songs
we sing you, we sing you a myriad of songs and stars
caught in the heavens looking down
on a completely different subject depending on ones point of view
AIDS is first reported in 1981 and today is that anniversary (30th) – today I love but not love AIDS – today I weep, profoundly – I think of artists, musicians, dancers, lovers and free men and woman all dying or dead of a disease whose name was never spoken by the elected leader of the time – such ignorance and more research put into the common cold than in research for what was killing and would kill – a fantastically dreaded disease which eats not only at the body but at the mind, soul and spirit.
I was born before AIDS but in large it has defined parts of my life, touched others and, if I can say it, graced the rest.
and Micael, Micael… O, now forever on this day shall I think of you, dance to your being –
the platitudes of willful resemblance 