father and son dialectic
who could have expected?
the pugilist
manas
would return bespectacled
hair curly and erected
mirror image of his Creator
(actually progenerator-
but we’ll split that hair later)
who could have expected?
all his suggestions redirected
all his blessings disrespected
all his lessons met with a skeptic
all the death threats and hate mail
coming from his own toddler tyrant
not to mention the wails
and cries louder than
ambulance sirens
In this I clad you with your
Steely concave chain mail
son and father dialectic
shot forth farther and less hectic
your splitting headaches
agitation
passive aggression and
frustration
multiplied a thousand times
in a dynamo of rhymes
loose connections
spilling out
knotted threads in time
Unraveling with tender strokes
through your hair
the crown that you wear
and my beacon in a crowd
eureka loud
red, orange-grey, white and silver
as we float down this river
The stream of Ravel’s Sonatine
soundtrack to my dreams
Pressed into the keys by
steady freckled hands
bending with the love
that cannot withstand
your rare brutish ways
that I pick apart
with full deluded faith
that to honor my father
is to seek consistency with God
Father and son dialectic
Who would recommend it?
Who would not commend it?
A game of catch
And a wait for a son to catch up
to latch on to the vines
in the fields of wine
to see the Logic in the pines
the patches for the lines
the effort, care, dedication
that cannot be named
the love that cannot be tamed
that would bring me to dependence
all the rest of our years
if I could hang around just a little nearer
only to be pushed away
though you’ve sparked the world
and lit my candle
for me to light more
my emptiness
my nirvana
the trepidation of
my self-determination
feels like losing you
