well if it aint the phone company
or my old boss or some
ancient karmic wreckage
twistin’ my tit up in a
wringer I guess it’s
gonna be you
I deserve it
sorry
but what can I say
when the inexorable
marriage of form and content
weeps the rain
the new rain and
the fecund swamp
of the mind
oozes pure poetry
life is poetry
even the lack of it?
Not meant to be an excuse, but alot has happened in the scant two weeks
since I returned from the Old World. #1, you didn’t know her, though I wish
you had, I called her my 3rd sister, she was my cousin Julie, Janine’s age,
lived in Toronto. She died the night I got back. Nobody knows why or how
yet. She was a rose in a life of thorns. An abused child, she was forced
to eat entire jars of peanut butter at a sitting, denied food as a toddler,
locked in closets and molested by her father. Even though she was scarred
by this hellish beginning and a frightfully fractured family, she was like a
moon in the darkness of her own night. She was always laughing and telling
jokes.
I’ll write soon. William Wallace.