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My father like Socrates...
He speaks philosophies of ancient rhythm.
Synchronicity in his vision.
Lines of regret & justice make up his timber.
The elegant way his voice shifts.
The way his mind remembers.
The momentum is uplifted, the track skips.
This time I did that…kid, you’ll never know what it was like back in the day when movies cost a nickel.
Here...now, in the presence of some living kerouacian character.
You have seen something truly beautiful.
An artist in their habitat.
A retreat for the freaks.
The grandfather of our time.
A voice which truly has something to say...it speaks.
“Be daring, but be careful.”
Wisdom from the sage.
The priest.
The one I cannot release.
Purely because what he means to me is absolutely everything.
He should live forever.
Just so I can hear him preach.
Gripe.
Sing my wrongs from the highest peak.