F: father’s day

The day spun away from me

World cup flashes and baby runs

Holding to the last echo

Of your memory

The fading sense of loving you

So I hate it all now:

The pedestrian nature of father’s day

It took me all day to settle down

The anger, the fear, the ugly town

The endless tears, the loss of time

The call from the curve of the universe

The voice saying: “all is the abyss”

“There is no reason and no rhyme”

No more sense of you

I want no monikers

No memorials

No remembrances

I want only to forget

Repression is my art

A cold heart, my reprieve

A closed soul, my bed

No spirit, my resolution

Damn you, Mr. Cat Stevens

For this taste of ancient love

Before all, there was Father

Before bone of bone there was mother

Before romance, pure nature

And before me was ‘He’

He that is no more

He that has left the stage

He, I do not love

He, no love and so no sleep

Damn you, Mr. Stevens

For reminding me

Of David and Esther

And slain Samson

Of myself

I will go to bed now

I will not remember

I will not untangle the lie about love

For all is loss

And father is lost

I will go to the arms of my lover

And there, I will cry

Be a baby again

I will say: father…