I now begin to smile at my whys and wherefores
where before I could only weep.
Does this make me also
kinda wiser than I was –
or just simply
unencumbered by the trying and lying and
fro-ing of all those latecomers, and latecomings, to
In every sense and
very sense and
ery sense and
ry sense and
y sense and
I’ve been able to beat back
the violence of bait and
the silence of spite and
the tying of grim to the
vehicles of state.
And it’s a good feeling, is this –
to John Nash my recovery;
to manage my seeing
through the brain of my reasoning;
to famish and then fashion the truth out of
treasoning; and then to use
as a clear way of reading
the future of “What if …?”;
the freedom of
the bell which tolls liberty
for us all.
And if no more we can learn than this thing I try to teach, let
us dig deep below the surface of age
to where our childhoods still glow in hope, and remake;
and the remake I hope for is that one where we
all do recall that effervescence of considerate
those moments of extraordinariness:
those seconds of joy:
those minutes and hours, and weeks and months
of touching, and believing and reaching
up high, so up high,
to those places of life –
to those wheres
where the lies of our elders can no longer win
their wars of attrition;
their wars of old sin.
So tell me again – and sing me this know –
the kiss and the hug and the bow of knotted love;
and the cultured bow of an ancient recognition;
and the prow of that ship which passed us all by
on the nights we did lose so idiotically:
so goddamn cruelly …
… yer know?
And the stern of that journey that recounted our
farewells – do you remember how true that
hard was to become?
I remember them well.
I remember them all well.
And all I remember is the well I want now to
spell: to spell and to speak
and to eagerly breach,
and to one day learn wonderfully to share