NOTE FROM LB
Short and bittersweet, or so many people may say. But if “art” means being totally honest in one’s work, then this is my acme of artistry. (Or maybe just my bad imitation of wisdom gained by reaching an unexpectedly old age?)
I wish I had loved as I was loved.
I wish I had returned all the fire.
But I was desperate for ten thousand wrong things,
And they were all that could feed my desire.
NOTE FROM LB
For reasons I don’t know, I’ve been dreaming about my high school days lately, and this has put me in mind of all the wonderful discussions only teenagers nearing their twenties can acceptably have. Which in turn reminds me of two elements pretty much missing from my life these days – my mother and God. Which of course leads to the probably-not-anywhere-near-immortal question:
When I was in high school, in the days before
Anything was P.C., Tiersky the tenor sax man
And I would throw around our ideas about God.