Preface: Why The Crescent Moon Wails

Many of us
adrift in the universe
must share belief in a special place
awaiting our childhood caregivers and their ilk.
It is their reward for endowing our lives with
the egregious gifts of crippled bodies,
shattered minds, and
shredded
souls...


Failing to thrive
from nurture denied,
the illusive comforts of
isolation became my solace.
Sustenance comprised
ingredients of
humiliation,
rejection,
and
other cruelties.

Beneath the
fearsome skies
of life I hid to elude
shame in asylums of
obscurity, bereft
of inner self.
Only
in dreams
could I find
a place to pitch
the inescapable
torments of
panic and
despair.

8th grade graduate,
me with her...

In astonished silence,
I sometimes gaze at people
who seem to take for granted
elements of life so precious and fleeting.

The Fool {Reversed}
of the Tarot and
the naïve child
I began life
as share ghastly
similar chracteristics.

I held lifelong belief in
abundance of luck,
except it was
all bad!

Today,
I do not believe
in superstition, astrology,
predestination or other
mystical phenomena.

However, I am compelled
to cast my memoir under
The Moon of the Tarot
who howled in vain
at my every step
through nascent
life...