I like your writing style....careful and well timed....like a new engine humming swell
nothing too hear to give one hell...

I wrote and sketched and painted women I loved.....loathing them was not....I had
those....my mother...the ones who were critical of me...equally fear based....for I was
their version of bastard fathers...and to they bastard children unwed....unloved like
unfed....always the hunger ravaging them inside even if they stuffed themselves
with everything that could be reached

my pedestal times.....

when they took the training wheels off my bike I went straight down the hill...a gravel
driveway....towards a street of limestone pavement...crushed limestone was mixed with
blacktop...a cheesgrater kind of texture that when aged was somewhat smoothed down
like alligator teeth...old...maybe.....I didnt get that far....swooped a half swing on the
gravel going full bore and went sidewalks skidding and thumping along as if thrown
by an adult.....I was so excited by the rush of speed....that I got even that far that my
normal reaction to cry like a baby that I still was at that age.....11?? didnt come out...
scrapped..bleeding...the new bike intact....they built things to last in those days!!
I was christened by speed....danger....rush....odds......even now at fifty when I almost
hit poles by veering about them there is that rush....thrill....calculating and never
putting myself at the odds......was something that once tasted I never looked back...

I loved girls pretty as postcards and pursued them...thinking I will never win them..
and I did....they smoked cigars...hated parts of what their dads did and moms....
burped farted just as much as I did....had nothing or had beautiful things....
but to them I was beautiful....broken and beaten down then....cowboy boots
and a leather jacket....a bad attitude and sour mouth....
I was their photo they found they wanted love and sex from....and it was all
good...but I lived for the pedestal....where they could not feel my arms
anger...need....acceptance....like the girls in the cages in the cocktail bars

Ive had glasses and cups thrown at me...a knife held over me...a car reversed
me hanging on the door and she spinning it...a great driver....I went flying
a full black eye....some of my shit destroyed.....photos removed...
gifts from previous girls destroyed.....

the passion.....and the insatiable sessions and release to the wilds again
but how I lived to be an earthshattering moment in their book
that I saw they had with others.....correction towards others...

what I missed was how important I was....How they did love me
I was immature and young...then grew old and jaded.....believing
it true my minds concept...

they were like billboard beauties
while all the while the girls on the ground
would lean on my shoulder
and say things...
"Bet you want her for the nite huh mister!"
while I stood starry eyed

I like this...its like a creation
that comes to life
and wants what all others want
and is fallible as they..them...the others

my writing was dry
and clean as a new pair of
jeans
for years and years
then I began to wear and tear
like the scrapes and bruises
of the first crash
and the many to follow

and of late
im learning to love my broken
up old self and smile
missing teeth wild hair
and dirty work shirt
and all

my post card girls
are relaxing
letting their hair
down and like tonight
with my baby at the sushi
busy place for all
the plump japanese girl
with glasses whom was
brusque poked me with
a finger when asking me
if I wanted more tea

a pink necklace fob
so see she dreams
and even the postcard
girls are real

as real as postcard
heroes

people live in life
love is a active scene
full of dirty dishes
and spills
and boredom
fights
and stupidity
and great passion

im so glad that I came
alive in the last little while
I was always holding out
for to be loved by my mother
and im so glad Ive got all
these very real women with
very real needs and
anger and insecurities to
just be near me

i dont judge my mothers ways
anyway
because I did
she put in good in me
but im loved and needed too
by real women

in a way your poem about
Thalia has brought all this
delving

i had thalias....
but the ones I least expected
and judged the most and drove
away were the spice and flavor
to my sauce of living
that keeps me sated

enjoying this repoire to your
well spelled off work!

Mr Esker~

highs school the greater minds would bring me the greater books
which I actually read! post high school I was reading three four books
a month out of librarys....
would buy the avante garde magazines
and sit with the real brainiacs whom were older and actually lived in
paris and spain
and had money
suprised when I opened my mouth one day
to answer a question they were delving
but its always been that way
opinions and judgements and then the fluid
articulations arrive from me

yes...I miss books like I miss the old FM
gone the way of analog television
free too the masses

gotta go put the dog out
a shar pei..its winter
my baby cant do it.
dogs mine
way it goes