Remembrance

Remembrance can
Be a confounding thing.
In a rush to recall,
Our minds can smear
Memories and ideas
Like oil paints on a
Blank canvas, leaving
Nothing but a mess
That someone else
Has to clean up.

But the stories that
Remain
Long after we have
Left this place for
Whatever destination
We most believe in,
Those are what
I actually care about.

What purpose is there
Being a “man of letters”
If there is no one left
Who will read them?

Maybe, in the end,
Frank was right:
I, too, am a woodcarver.
And these words of
Love linger like those
Burned into his long
Fragrant cedar casket,
Put into the ground
And left to fade back
Into the Earth that he
And it came from.

MSBQ

Nomenclature

who is like the Lord?
it’s a symbol of persona
represented by more symbols
a facemask of letters
brittle like eggshells
I was lucky, I got four

one for an archangel
(fiery sword in hand)
another for my father
(a constable of morality)

the last two, a pair
(from a distant land)
a son’s hatred for
his father’s disparity

an interesting
combination
one might wonder
the intersection of
Moses and Copperfield
wherein I have made
a burrowed home
underground with no
welcome mat

MSBQ