Frame of Reference

...to My Dad As I strolled through Bolton I saw the players who possessed me, who beat me down and held me up, who tickled me and trounced me, formed and shaped this neophyte. Full aware of their manipulations, stations of the Cross, or as temptations for transgression, they were my lifelines, baiting me, or bonding me to morals, some would stick, and some would splinter. Too soon my father passed away. Oft I meet him as I wander, more than any other wraith, we smoke cigarettes and chat, solid body, apparition. Significant exchanges, the channels of his wisdom broadened those of this young child, and I expanded 'til perspective took its hold. There will be more, 'til I am singular and bold.