Richard Lopez (1943-2014) (p.)

my father & I didn't talk very much. 
there was a happy person bullied away 
into a unique sort of madness, 
confusing pain from previous winnings. 
he could swing between contempt 
 for life itself 
and 
the kind of joy that can only die with flesh. 

I don't think he ever deliberately 
 gave me advice, but his 
 existence 
is advice more than pithy. 
Okay. 

He neither did drugs in any serious/
recreational way around me nor 
really complained about 
my doing so (I started cigarettes 
around 8th Grade, most of 
the rest soonafter. Okay.) 

He didn't: have any close friends (ho ho) the whole
                 30 yrs. of life I knew him; 
                 speak abusively to his wife (although 
                he had rage issues) I remember, as a teenager, 
                coming home and all of the lights in the house would 
be doused, as they say, this 
fragile, solitary pulse absorbing 
your focus. it was very scary, 
even tho it was safe. 
I wish I knew more about him, 
and Numeranio, 
but as I said: my father & I didn't talk very much. 





****   

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