but the fighter still remains: a letter of thanks to simon and garfunkel

when i was cells dividing my mother would sing, even then she would sing "i am just a poor boy // though my story's seldom told..." i was born into poetry and lullabies and maybe my dna can resonate with rhyme when i was cells multiplying my mother would sing, when her demons were clawing her back even then she would sing "all lies and jest // still a man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest..." before i knew what cells were my first poem was for my mother a beam of light to fight off the pitch unknowns in her mind and to this day every now and then i find new tools to put into words, new words to make into tanks to battle for her and to battle for me and to battle more than anything for certainty because the cigarettes and self-loathing kept my mother from singing but never from feeling like a fighter, laid down by the gloves of boxers and doctors i tag myself in as much as i can for any fight i feel needs fighting though my blows and my imagination mean nothing to hallucination i fight for my mother and for myself for certainty and for philosophy for love and for biology-- i am more than cells dividing and i am writing, i am fighting and i will sing, even then i will sing, through concrete or abstract pain i am only a writer because i was born a fighter and the fighter will always remain