IMAGINE

There's nothing memorable coming from my being

more memorial, am I closer to death than life?

 Let's face it. People don't like people to talk this way.

But I have to live it. You can bury your head 

I cant, wish I could. I want to write of birds, bees

Bee humble and take it on the chin. Stand tall like

a Johnny Cash song, that's what my father told me.

Son be a good boy and hold your head high, Walk tall 

I found out the hard way, my father never gave me shit.

What a joke I can't stand or walk.

He was a cold steel christ murderer. Is that what

you want of me, a  christ-loving killer. Kill/christ

don't go hand in hand, stop this rhetoric, outdated.

Imagine summer without bonfire marching violence, 

Barbeque sharing instead of hate-filled memories.

A clean slate, that's what I woke with, half a century

wiped off erased, all my writing since 2005, nonsense.

Where is this pome taking me, back to a grave-yard

sense and disability, back where I belong. Back to

the first real poem I ever wrote, Light on stones.

Boulders at your head, back to the start, unborn.