I read a poem I wrote at 23, at the age of 39, mixed with b-roll from 2004.
roesing
2000 Trying to Meat a Girl
Trying to meat a girl
Brink, boredom from the look
The look from the boredom, a wink
Inquire, thrown out the words
Hit the floor and wait, perspire
Sick, embattled belabored
Over and over again, slow
Failure, has thou eaten my bread
Against my own will, I do
Lickety split
Depression on a stick
Quick, quick, get him lit
If he is crazy
Then he is entertaining
Tired, sleepy, head hung low
Cranky, weedy, eyes in tow
Their bags become your bow,
Stretching and creaking
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1999 Father’s Day
Father’s Day
Where the man beats his child,
The child will eventually beat the man.
Where the man works hard and long,
The child will relax and be at ease.
Where the man is ignorant and callous,
The child will be sensitive and wise.
Where the man is loyal and honest,
The child will be devious with lies.
Where the man sees little,
The child sees much.
And when the man grows old and gives up,
The child will finally give it a try.
Without communication, without truth, without touch.
Doing this doing that, all that.
They can.
But where the man beats the child,
The child will have scars of both wisdom and ignorance.
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