Track inflaming earth's wick from here
pressed through snow as far as memories go
measureless strides, hearts heaved into depth of tread
as hieroglyphics, indecipherable by synapse, discharged
in plans serious and real as times forgotten discards
a monolith at Stonehenge undiscernible;
a pyramid at Gaza under the sun,
each hold half the key to that, that you have read
We met at a writer's conference at Eastern University. I, in my early 30's, he in his late 50's, and Bill in his late 20's were out of place mavericks in that group so we sort of bonded. Paul liked the Black Mountain poets, had been to the City Lights bookstore and Haight-Ashbury (unimpressed). We related well from our love of the beats mixed with a love of the Kentucky mountains. It didn't hurt that he produced a smooth peach "brandy" from his still.
In 1988 he published a limited edition chapbook of poems entitled "A Generation Woven And Bound, Covered With Sackcloth." Each book was hand bound and indeed, covered in sackcloth. One of the greatest and humbling honors of my life was that he mentioned me in the acknowledgements.
Pat left for Florida, I dropped out of college and went to work for NAPA. But we kept in touch. He occasionally would drive up to Lexington and meet me very early, before work, at the Richmond Road store. We would breakfast on cheese, juice and chunks of bread while reading and discussing each other's newest poem projects.
I miss him tremendously.