Albert Huffstickler

You live on my lips

in waves of sound
that precede me. I mourn
you as if you were my own
grandfather, underground grandmaster

You live on my lips


And with the clanking of metal against glass
ashes fall, like a gavel, but not so judgmental
adjourning to the silence in this room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before I Knew

Albert,

I am mad, but exist in this
world when I can. I have managed
to start a family, screw their minds up
and, years later, I am beginning
to do right by them. I feel poetry

is the path, for I follow no man
no religion. I just write. Though I was born
in 74, I feel no other has spoken to me
like me, as you have done, through Poetry Motel

Your words, the way they have made me cry
sigh, hold the book against my chest and stare
into nothing but my soul has compelled me to write you

I would like to know you
of course, I already do
but, perhaps, see you, read to you

Even though I have no money
I would gather and go to you

I once knew wealth, monetary wealth
and now peering into this funnel of time
I comprehend that its value exists only
in a cosmetic world, so-called reality

enabling our bodies to move from place to place

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I wrote this just days ago for Albert Huffstickler. The man's work was uniquely human.