The Moment Critique

Notice the texture, the subtile depth of an edge

the perfect color of the spaces between

where nothing exists

except the potential of an instant

to evolve into what was not

ever before.

Billy Radd

Asheville

Habitual Ritual

Habitual Ritual

Can’t see too much from the inside,

outside of the music inside my head.

Was I running away from myself only to find

I’m up against, at last, an endless wall of men?

From the day I was born I was told what to think.

Strange, now that I’m older I can see

from the top down that the bottom is a sink

into which everything I do, say, or think disappears.

But, this is next to impossible to hear

when you’ve got nowhere to hide, 

everything to lose

and the end could be looming quite near.

Holy Moley, I can’t get the idea out of my head

that sooner or later, no matter what I think, say, or do,

I’m gonna be really, finally, unequivocally dead.

Oh, the wonder of it all, the wonder of the small.

I can’t remember the beginning, and won’t remember the end.

Life’s not a road that goes anywhere but in a circle.

So, I’m riding all the colors, notes, smells and flavors

like a jockey on a horse finally coming round the bend.

Billy Radd
Asheville