father and son dialectic

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