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 |    10k views, 2x BestPoetryCollection. A nothing from nowhere cast words to a world wide wind |
| Prose and Dead Men Tiger-striped flannel and matching ball cap, if slid askew, would remind living family of the old man -- sitting on the tailgate of his blue Ford, sheltered amid flocked customers and other vegetable growers. Cracking wise in the corner parking lot of the local farmer’s market, his hat true -- angled in the locked position, a habit I suppose from serving in military. Nicknamed Big John, missed death as a sentry in Guam by just one hour -- relieved of post before another throat slit, a nameless brother in arms I would not learn until I was a man. I scribbled these musings in secret journals, hollow words spun in my corner booth for hours at mic’ed readings where no one peruses the printed commitments amid pregnant pauses. My endless voice scratchings echo an arena choked -- with tears in my eyes not for him but some liberal heart bleeding, actualize the purpose of prose. 4.21.20 Flexible on where to go with this. Irony of a life lived transcribed by a life not lived in his shadow.  |
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