words of a people aligned in their perfect order
I almost never write naked – there are times while in bed and after feeling enraptured beyond illumination or prose by the pressing together of two forms and bonding with sweat and efflorescent nothings whispered passionate in each others ear – those times I will roll and pluck out a small black notebook and pen a few lines before returning – but most of all is written while dressed and thinking back with forward anticipation.
From here, the days just keep getting shorter. This is what informs my day
What would you do if you knew you could not fail? this is the test to know what you should spend you life doing. it is suppose to be rhetorical and/or asked by every guidance counselor of every pimply faced teenager who doesn’t know yet what they want to do. I didn’t know then – or I did but it wasn’t considered a wise career choice.
My answer now? – no longer live through the vagaries of chronic pain – find a way to free myself from the unrelenting haunt that are, the constraints of living that are, physical pain and mental anguish.
What I once wished was to be a poet – to varying degrees I am that now, I live it and it is possibly pain that has given me this aspect, pain that has offered me clarity through pain controlling medications, pain has offered me poetry that does not belong on even the most interesting hallmark cards.
I’ve been victimized but refuse to play the part of victim. I have survived but instead decide to live as on who persists.
My Child is singing in the next room – I love to hear him and he makes up his own songs, rarely singing that written by others. He is influenced only by life and finds its best expression in song and poetry.
Last night, after making love, outside smoking and the coyotes were getting close, I had my 1911 but after midnight it is too loud – we went inside. Listened to them get ever closer as we fell to sleep.
Now I am looking for a good varmint rifle – something in a .223 as I refuse to be eaten by an animal.
I don’t think of myself as a contradiction but as myself – unique as all people should be and alike as all humans are.
a Poet, Buddhist, gun lover, biker, romantic, cripple – these are not contradictions and I practice non-violence in balance to the gun I carry on my side.
Yesterday I got read a smallish version of the riot act by a very good friend for referring to myself as a cripple. He said he winces a bit every time I say it and that I need to find a better descriptor. Maybe he is right – certainly he is honest, intelligent and an excellent friend. It is that I feel crippled, I feel like a Quasimodo hanging from the bell tower yelling “Sanctuary! Sanctuary!” – but I know that I am not a cripple but have been crippled – therein lies a a major difference. In terms of strength and size I am capable of being a monster, frightening to some who don’t know me and gentle and kind to those who do. The leg has been shortened and crippled, it has been cut and lives on in pain but when need be I still pick up and hold my seven year old to calm his fears, his tears and his to remind him that no matter how he grows – he is loved deeply and completely. I am not a cripple and as was pointed out by my friend – I would bust the chops of anyone who said so to my face – I have been disabled, but not defeated.
the platitudes of willful resemblance 