Farmers Branch, TX

Iíve never been one with a lack for saying
Something, either nonsense or heartfelt
Misguided or guided by the truth or my truth
Sometimes even wrong, for others or even myself
I find that situations require reflection or processing
Even when my first reaction is to spout off,
A fire hose lost by trained hands trying to put out
Fires that burn uncontrolled by anything but itís own nature

Sometimes we lose, lose so profoundly that we just stand there
Or carry on as if it didnít happen
But it did happen
And now I choose to write to set the glowing embers quiet
Within my guilty heart

The call came, never at the right time
And found that you were gone
A mystery that I didnít want to solve
Because it seemed so unlike you
You were not on the list, the list kept
For the dangerous, the sad, the out of control
You never even made the list of alternates
Even with what was taken from you by life
The list that everyone had me on for so long

There was a purity and a humor within you
That comforted me, made me feel like there was at least one man
Who saw the world the same
Where the magic and mathematics created our own vocabulary
And it could exist within the suffering and stupidity that was
Everywhere, that it didnít matter, that we could see the personalities
Of men we didnít know by the way their hands and feet moved
Striking joy or fury, delicate or fantastic

And I couldnít call your parents and tell them what they already knew
That their son touched so many people, was talented, was special
And that the mystery was so strong, so scary, so unexplained
That I, confirmed bigmouth, had nothing to say, couldnít help
Was so afraid of what had happened that speaking of it
Would not heal but infect, and that the fragile mortal that I am
Could be struck down and relieved of my freedom to be

I wish I could say I was different, that I rose to the challenge
To reach out to them, unknown except by blood
But instead called our common friends and people who had known you
And shared the news of your departure

Yet your presence follows me
Into that city of profit you once lived in
Through every linear phrase borrowed by the next generation
Through every tequila flashback and sunlit Asian face
Past every drawl and pun ended joke
To the tone of a cheap Swiss cymbal with a matchburn near itís bell
That you last played on
And Iíll miss you
The same way you would have missed me
Had I gone before
To check out† the groove on the other side.