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...

iii: The Imperishable Havanabrownsam

Sam
entered my life
curled snugly asleep
in the palm of my hand.
When told his age, I calculated
his birthday to be January 6, 1989...
Little Christmas!

ii: Dying From Life, Living In Death

When you're eleven years old
waiting for sleep each night to bring
an end to one more day, reposed as a
corpse at a wake in a funeral home where
grieving family and saddened classmates bring
empty goodbyes while whispering regrets,
never while living would even one try;
this is as good as it ever can get
and the norm becomes
meaningless as the
blissful void of
dream...

i: When Madness Howled Back

I
dreamt
of becoming
a poet or writer,
not an adult survivor.
In grammar and high schools,
I read or wrote in spare moments.
When discovered in creative solitude,
they told me my introverted behavior was
abnormal and that I needed psychiatric help!