| I Did NOT Come to SPEAK on This Excuse me being here, seeming all confused but I always am these days. Burnt brain cells I cannot use cause my fog to only lift into a lesser haze where my daze allows my craze a chance to choose. Otherwise I'd realize it isn't wise to ostracize this simple thread which I hang upon. Because I see that only me can let it be or let it rise to fall again to the place where I am sane or gone. Let it float or let it sink until it's right or wrong. It was not this I came to speak to you about those I do not know, all gathered here. But instead I find my head so full of dread I just must shout at the heavens, a sure hell below, things so very dear to those standing expectations, both fogged and clear. I came to speak on things you seem to never win. About a boy getting higher than he had ever been. Lord, you know it will never seem just right little Matt being killed, killed maybe twice out there in the West Texas cold black of night where unusual weather slicked blacktop like ice under wheels of that coal-black Ford. "Where's my baby, My Baby!" cried his mother. Oh Lord Out of that night like someone just threw a switch with Josh on the front seat, Matt asleep in back until a drunk put Sam top-down in that ditch. Side-swiped in passing put them on to death's track with Sam on that black-top, just calling for Matt while up the hi-way sped a drunken, dirty rat. It was later found Matt had not gone so very far. When they rolled it over, he was found below that car. "My baby! Oh baby! Where is my baby now?" I thought I could get through it somehow. Relatives he didn't know, and that hard-eyed preacher with the too sweet voice leaving me with little choice while Sam cried and cried. Seemed a dream, just so mean to make you scream over preacher talk about sin and the will, with a voice that hurt while putting Matt into that cold West Texas dirt until I finally could just not abide, so had to balk- take matters, one pink quilt, my son into my hand. Me and Matt left them standing with the foolish preacher-man. I could leave Matt to sleep forever in cold West Texas ground or I could run with him wrapped tight beside me there on the pick-up seat, on our way back to town where I didn't know what I'd do, but would see what I could for him, now my little boy was dead. It was these thoughts driving me. Playing with my head. I drove through Houston to the Forest Lawn's field of stone where I had hoped to find him some little place close around but driving there, I felt like we were on our on, just so alone as dark came windy , with rain just pouring down until I finally had to turn that ga'damn truck around. I had driven so far into crazy I drove myself back sane. It all happened around sun-up, an end coming to that rain. Sam cried in the west, "My baby where are you now." Wrapped tight beside, me still thinking maybe - some how.. Funny that my dreams allow many shades of black and gray to take me back long ago like it happened yesterday. Matt would be fifty one, even though it is now so long since he went away. Do thoughts and words come to play in your mind like silver eels in an ocean of oil? To come into view then slip away to depths you'll never know.. Down within the dark they lay, hiding so deep within my head like a dancing serpent's coil, until they reach a tumbling boil that tumbles out the waves of dread dispersing, dispensing, displacing all color but red. I did not come to SPEAK on this. Just like I said. THC |