First your eyes 
 caught the light reflected
 off my desire, your touch
 on my hand 
 created all the cities 
 of the ancient world, your voice
 announced the end of war 
 and the beginning of generosity.

 This sequence of events 
 defined by the heart
 has no meaning. You
 enter all that is mine and I
 become the earth and all its dreams.
 Come to me always this way,
 stripped of purposefulness.

 Winds off the warm sea
 fan the perfumes of memory:
 you touch me, my bones
 ache, waiting for the next moment
 you look into me. 
 Desire is the distance
 that I travel to be reborn
 in the song that you sing.

 What I see
 What I hear
 What I touch
 Your vision,  Your song,  Your heart...
 Carry me there until you reach that place 
 where I have always carried you.

NB - 5/96
 

"Went Down to the Crossroads, Fell Down on My Knees"

Notty Bumbo
Acrylic on Canvas
8/01

Death comes for us all, but between, we want so much that the ache can sometimes make death feel near. All these things, so entrancing, so self-affirming, and so, well, pervasive. TV, movies, magazines, web sites, our neighbor's wife... The alure of what we do not have but must have is overwhelmg.

After the latest fall of Khandahar, the few children remaining whole yearned for one thing, and one thing only - no more, please Allah, no more.

Is what we want, what we need?

Down at the crossroads, Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil to be the best damn guitar-player in the world. As well he may have been. What are we selling ours for?