October 19, 2019
Heading to my sister’s house to babysit The Boy, I called upon a time. A time which allows for hours to fade like the edges of oceans. There’s a baby to watch who laughs at my worries, and in part cries because, “fuck you man…”
Like the day he made great, it was destined he’d take,
A book for which saved me of a failing grace.
He held my past thought train, then laughed because it looks plain…
His mom bought my book. I saw it against the wall on the kitchen counter top. I too said, “how plain…” Since I’m here and with the baby, let’s get a pic! I sat him up on the couch, handed him my book and he immediately grabbed it and laughed.
“Uncle Budd, Uncle Budd, is this your book?
I have no idea how to read, so let’s pretend as I look;
They’ll know what you’re doing, no more than the book’s undoing…”
He held a plain looking book and I did nothing for his engagement. What’s held are my emotions bottled up. The times I suppressed doubt because I had plans to succeed, no matter how hard the road presented itself.
Jump for joy, this is a toy.
You say behind the words are meaningless joy?
I’m laughing at your past pains because you needed a pic with the boy.
As effortless the book was, simplicity is all it took. The cover not so easy on the eye, but simple, and it was a thought I gave a try. Like babies and maybes, doing something out the blue is the nature under Dekum’s blue.
Far from any children’s book, I needed a promo hook.
Simple because that’s how I wrote the book.
Meditating through untrying—so a lonely road I took.
Without trying I got the baby to care.
Now near his mouth, boy don’t you dare.
He looks like my dad sometimes. Then his eyes beam like his dad in time. I see a charm for the boy he is. Holding a book of bullshit for peace it is. He held it to show how baby’s can take emotional pain. I care not for the words, but the art in vain. So here I am…re-writing a time I called lame.
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