I was born in Winchester, Kentucky, five decades ago, during
a raging and terrifying thunderstorm in a small metal house trailor
that was parked on the side of winding mountain road. It was just before
midnight on April the 30th when my Mother, who was quite alone, lifted me
up over her head to get a good look at me in the dim light, cord still attached.
The sound of clapping thunder was the first sound I heard and lightening was
a brilliant flash, exhilerating to my new eyes.
Mother smiled a reasurring smile at me. It was a beautiful night!
...the land streched out before me
like a beckoning voice, whimpering,
seducing me in it's quiet intoxication,
cursing me for standing as Kali,
carressing me for attending to
it's need to be free.
Was this the land of my birth, of my beginning,
of the moment from whence came moments after,
or was this just another rise, just another mountain
overlooking the empty paths of my wait?
Whatever it was or is yet still, it is sacred
to mine heart, this pristine hill.
Were I at peace and not at odds
would this life breathe easier than now,
or would the strain attest the fact
that peace is odd somehow?
Were I older now and not as young
would the world show a kinder face,
or would the hell of being young
become a fearful place?
Were I to be a man someday
and do what good men do,
would I be blessed with a life
of being loved by you?
Were I you and not me
would it make a difference at all
that what I ask goes unnoticed
as piss on the outhouse wall?