Friday, April 5, 2013

Young spirit (a nephew's poem)

Being a kid, not older than 10
I used to walk the streets
        around my house,
In growing circles, always seeking.
For something. Old, new, different.

Now years, later, two to be precise, I am ..
        ..joking of course,
I know I am not allowed to post,
   unless eighteen.

So I am channeling this through my uncle Bob,
   through his empty mind,
   resembling a street after midnight,
   enjoying his spirits,
   which I did not buy,
   but have stolen
   from my father, who stole my life,
   all the bad decisions,
   a few half-planned, but most not at all yet,
   mistakes I wanted to learn from,
   he took away, before enjoy them I could have,
   treating me like a program,
   a product of his design, full of bugs,
         too late to fix.

if decline all, send, capture agent
no middle name
birthdate after surname

title ! on details
flip verify
remove details gray box!

These last few lines are not mine.
Either the copy or the paste went wrong.

Not that different from memory, pasting old moments,
that did not exist, repainting them with the dramatic brush,
in fancy colours of the moment.

But let me not digress.

World, I hate you.