happy birthday fred

the big 5-0

altho not really

but i will be (hmmm)

how does it feel to be 44 forever?

once you would have said

"i'd rather see what 50 is like

and don't ever say 'he's in a better place...'

if i was going to go to a better place, i may have chosen brazil"

but what would you say now?

i wanted to tell people about you

desert stories

nobody told better stories than you

a cigarette in one hand, a coffee in the other

the stories lasted until dawn...


fred drake born january 28 1958

taft california near bakersfield

died joshua tree california june 20 2002

and this is the music that was playing


once upon a time

because that's where all stories begin

in a land that was once an ocean

and still retained that sort of pull

the alluring landscape

the rush of a cosmic breath

the depth and the breadth

the inescapability of birth and death

the boundlessness the bountifulness

there rode a cowboy angel

upon an arabian stallion

playing slide guitar as la mujere

sang to la luna.


one spring morning he wandered up the road.

there was room at the inn

and the party was just about to begin.


but first, there was a moment of silence, of reverence.

there was a calm before the drums.

a deep sigh of silence before the dance.


and then there was a celebration.

the first new years eve after you left

we could see you on a star

cradled in orion's arms.
but when you were here

we celebrated in the monument,


hey, remember when mario sang nature boy

for elia's birthday

on top of a rock up in ryans

i can still see your wide smile

under the brim of your cowboy hat

as your father the texas oilman

stood there holding the flashlight

for the fine naked gay black man.

those are the kind of moments fred inspired.


after you died it seemed like a dozen more followed behind

mario and brenda and gregg and sabu and noah

kyoti and gothic and ben and hazel and

as hard as we tried we couldn't stay together


when the wind blows

spirits move around

passing right through the walls of our houses

they penetrate our bodies

and they brush up against our bones

scattering seeds everywhere

and after the wind died down

and the horses stopped screaming

you could not hear a coyote

or that lone truck downshifting up the morongo grade

anymore

and it seemed like everyone was gone


on christmas morning i received the news

that a child was to be born

and so he was

when the last of the stallions was called home

and when the child was born

this is the music that was playing

and from the dust in this desert

and from the friction of bones and flesh

the child bears traces of your soul


now we look out the window and see

galleries and minstrels

red arrow and the art queen

the multitudes

and black haired boys in black clothes with skulls

with bleach blonde girls who dare to show dark roots

bearing their scars, their hearts

waving to white buses

filled with the returning soldiers

and i know the work you'd begun

is coming to fruition

a lone pilgrim brokeback cottonwood tree

white and naked as winter

stands in a garden with it's arms outstretched

limbs like elegant fingers

pointing in the direction of spring




ted quinn
1/26/08