This is the hardest part. The Words. I love word, I respect them and there power. Words can make us do anything. They can push us to violence or move us to tears, Build a person up and in a breath tear them apart. Words have a magic to them. In the right place said by the right person there is no telling what could happen. So to be trusted with them, to me, is a gift I don’t take lightly. Every day we throw them around like baseballs in an endless game of catch. Conversations on porches are the hymns of summer nights.
The are certin people who have away with words. Poets, profits, and politicians to name a few. Alan Greensburg’s “Howl” is one of the first poems I heard and fell In love with.
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix, angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night, who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flats floating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,
Even now years latter it still gives me goosebumps. Again I don’t know if this is where I intended to go with this tonight but I’ve ended on a truth I can live with, So in till we meet again.