POEM #82.10

i AM UNSURE OF WHAT DAY TO DATE THAT POEM...THiS POEM;

2 POEMS DATED (POSSiBLE) DATES MY FATHER MAY HAVE DiED (AND THE NEXT DAY; AFTER...A SATURDAY):

i CAME TO KNOW HE DiED THAT...

THiS...TWO DAYS AGO.

KNOWiNG (AND NOT KNOWiNG) HiM i BET iT WAS SOMEWHERE BETWEEN 11:59 AND 12:01...hmm...

(THOSE) WiTCHiNG MiNUTES...

MiLDLY, MiDNiGHT-MOViNG...

sublime:

where nothing but lowercase i’s can be understood...

nothing but lowercase i’s are spoken.

“...gallons of blood...

making all of us oceans...”

an alphabet lost (hopefully just hidden)

in our still taller towers of scrabble...

paired...

and spared and...

scared here on (a sacred) earth?

REPAiRiNG EACH OTHER iN THOSE MOMENTS LET ALONE THE HOURS THAT WE GOT TO SPEND; LET ALONE THOSE HOURS i FEEL i’LL SOMEHOW HAVE TO PAY FOR...UNDOUBTEDLY PAY FOR...TWO GETTiNG TWO…REGRETS “RiCHER” THAN LiFE iTSELF.

MY DAD, OUR DAD...MADE ME A DAD (jAMES);

A DAD-APPRECiATIVE OF ALL THE OTHER REAL DADS OF DADS, OF DADS, AND OF THEiR STEP-DADS ALL THE SAME…OF THiS...

HERE…OUR SACRED WORLD:

(MUSTARD) SEEDS AND GLUE...DNA-TRUE. ANCiENT ONES THOUGH ABSENT SOMEHOW LETTiNG THEiR CHiLDREN GROW BEER AND BOLD, MiLK AND MOLD, OF SPiCE, SMELLiNG OF A CELLAR-OF-SHOES’ SON (i AM)...

A WEARER OF AND PROUD BEARER OF THOSE BRADLEY-TANK BLUES!

iN OUR EARS AND OUT OUR SOULS THROUGH VELVET CURTAiNS OF OUR OWN CURTAiN CALLS UNTiL GOLDEN, RED LAUGHTER FELL AND FALLS ON AND iNTO LiSTENiNG EARS...

“DO THE NEXT RiGHT THiNG.”…

“…BUiLD iT AND...THEY WiLL COME.”

DAD WAS THE DAD THAT GOD NEEDED HiM TO BE...iF SOLELY BECAUSE, HE MADE ME THE FATHER i’LL KEEP SEARCHiNG ME TO BE…

OR NOT TO BE.

A LOVER OF NEW MUSiC WiTH AN OLD SOUL OF AN OLD MUSiC OF A still taller, BOLDER GENERATiON...

A LOWERCASE ONE...

A RiCHER-STiLLED-SON.

A RESTLESS MiND, LOWERCASE KiND.

RiP dad.

…

“SAY iT LOUD, SAY iT CLEAR…”

HERE COMES, JAMES BRADLEY RiCHARDSON.

MUCH LOVE, YOUR SON.