(For Molly Andrews)
We begin wrestling in the mud like idiot savants and adolescent Gods. And nothing matters until the page is turned and the songbook is filled with stardust.
She introduced me to a Gospel Train when playing the autoharp for us on McMillen Ave. It was the year of who knows when and I am a better man for everything that was created and destroyed in those misplaced and unidentified times.
We end wrestling with the mythos of resurrection like wise old fools and hungry forsaken devils. And everything makes a difference when we focus on the breath of life existing inside of us.
Molly Andrews is a harmonic convergence whose birth keeps us all eternally young and infinitely foolish.