Learning to write letter "B"
my little son, tries, I curiously see
to get in to its spirit so abstract
through its concrete form,
by finding an analogy
he could relate well and not forgotten easily.
more like a bee using wax to make a shape it likes
and then seeing it as the hive he wanted to make,
watching him I think, as his cute hands draw
the twin swell forward, with such interest,
eyes for a moment glint, as if to say" yes,I get it"
"Look dad, isn't it just like milk?" he exclaims!
I know 'milk' is the word he associates
with the source of milk, from the days he was breast fed,
"B'with its shape fits the bill, to be treated with love
"B" he finds reminding him the milk of mother's love.
she sat in the kitchen
frivolously underlining passages in her brand new bible
nodding her head
occasionally pressing her hands into her chest
"yes" she'd whisper
with her blind eyes shut
every bitch needs a crutch
every hour or so
she'd leave her hiding place
to shove her misunderstanding in my face
"god only loves us if we ask him to"
"you're a sinner. your sins can only be cleansed with the blood of christ"
"our lives gain their only meaning when we ask christ into our hearts"
is that right?
how'd he find any room in yours
when you keep it bound up like a hostage?
i tried with all my might
to remind myself that i am a spiritual being
that i want no one to hurt
even those who waste their precious seconds plotting ways to hurt others
to craft everyone their own kind of pain that they can name
help you look up a cure in a little black troubleshooting guide
but i cracked
and i snapped
and i didn't feel bad
don't you get it?
are you paying attention to what you read?!
the whole goddamned story is about LOVE...
about loving everyone
not only under certain circumstances
but every second of every day
the same way we're told that he loved
calling yourself a christain is the farthest thing that you can do from actually being christ-like
he was a good guy
like robin hood
you won't get a free car
or fleeting fame
all you'll gain is peace
and clearly that's what you really need
but you also need to remeber
that if he's watching everyone's every move
like you say
then he too sees you going out of your way to ruin someones day
he sees you ignore the hungry man asking for change
he sees you preaching things you've never practiced
he sees you looking for ways to bend the rules without breaking them
if christ came back
he wouldn't be the sharp-dressed man up front
whom you're always trying to charm the pants off of with your faith
he'd be the homeless man sitting by the steps in silence
whom you marched right passed
without so much as a glance
or a simple hello
he'd know you misunderstood the entire message
and go back to spitting prophesies into his brown paper bag
and he'd never rub it in your face that you've always had it wrong
and it felt just like in a film
the flowers blooming all over the place
the crooked smile all over your face
your smooth hands touching mine
your words making me feel
home and maybe a little welcome
keeping up with me is not easy
believe me, i know not even i'm able to,
how will you?
i listen to lots of nostalgic old songs
my mother used to listen to
the bad quality, you aren't used to
the guitar riffs sounding raw
and the voice of the man who is now dead
maybe i'm living dead
or i'm deadly living
And endlessly loving
The sun splitting stones, he'd never been this cold
A traipse in a daze, he was what he was, and he was what he owned
All angles perfect, signal all systems go
A rushed scrawl of penance, you'll understand, don't we all in the end?
Knows the drawer, but draws them all
Watches, letters and diaries fall and scatter, his charge in amongst it all
Little thought then did he give to what they'd find
As he inclined the .45 to blow his mind
I want you to know
but at the same time
I don't have the heart to tell you
there was a little bear he lived in the wood
he liked helping people anyway he could
one day while he was walking in his forest home
he came across his friend a friendly little gnome
the little gnome was crying with teardrops in his eyes
he very sad and his breath was full of sighs
what is wrong asked bear what is wrong with you
maybe i can help is there something i can do
gnome had lost his hat with its little bell
without he was lost and couldnt cast a spell
so they looked together along the forest floor
to try and find the hat and his magic could restore
bear was very tall and looked up in a tree
there he saw the hat as plainly as can be
he gave to the gnome sat up on the floor
the gnome he was so happy to have his magic back once more
In yellow lamplight a boy is pulling a green knit sweater over
his head. It is winter, maybe late autumn. The branches are
bare and his room is cold. He is forcing his feet into a battered
pair of Converse with frayed dirty laces that he never unties.
On the stereo, Bob Dylan sings a song about a girl from Canada;
the boy, pushing his arms into the sleeves of a blue jacket far
too thin for the weather, dreams of the blondest girl he ever
knew and the way she waved goodbye. His footsteps echo
down the wooden staircase, follow him out the backdoor. The
cold stings his cheeks, makes itself tangible with each exhale,
his thighs turning pink through their layer of corduroy. With
his headphones on he doesn’t hear a sound, his pathway lit by
the lights from other houses. Television screens flickering in
the windows. The pond by the high school looks frozen over,
but he knows the layer is likely not thick enough to hold him.
He cuts across the dead of the Little League field, taking his
hand out of his pocket to run his fingers along the grooves of
the rusted out chain link fence. The weatherman has promised
snow, and the boy’s heart is bubbling with hope that the
schools will stay closed in the morning. He is thinking about
when he was little, digging out shelters in the snows banks
with his sister, and how in this tiny caverns he felt he could live
forever, anonymous and alone. He is thinking about what his
mother meant when she told him he was born old. A cat runs
down a driveway, a man walks his large black dog, a shivering
couple splits a cigarette on their front porch. The boys is
looking down the road, thinking about how no one is ever
there when you want them to be. He stops in front of her
house, jams his hands a little deeper into his pockets, looks up
at her bedroom. There she is, sitting at her desk, perfect
posture, reading from a hardback book with fairies dancing on
the cover. He pays attention to the hollow feeling of his chest,
hoping to excavate some kind of courage, some kind of
confirmation that fourteen years of life has amounted to this.
He imagines throwing a stone, but sighs instead, and turning
on his heels walks back home. Somewhere an airplane blinks
overhead, snowflakes making their first ominous descent into
the atmosphere. When he gets home the house is dark, his
parents gone to bed. In his room he empties his pocket of loose
change onto the top of his dresser, and sits down on his bed.
Hands clasped between his knees, he chews his lips, and takes
momentary joy at the feeling of sadness creeping into this
Does she know that I want to sleep in the valley between her breasts?
Does she know that home for me is having my ear beside her chest?
Does she know that when her legs are intertwined with mine
I feel like I finally have enough strength to survive?
Does she know that the softness of her skin is life for my weary bones?
Does she know that when our bodies meet, courage is what she loans?
Does she know that her small hand sliding across my torso
Is for me, my breath and bread and smiles and laughter... Only more so?
Does she know how I feel when I hear her say my name?
Does she know that every little movement ignites a fire of a million burning flames?
Does she know that without her being by my side
It only becomes more clear to me, dear, I must make you my bride.
I wish to reminiscence those cotton candy days
when we intertwined our fingers together
strolling by the beach during sunny days
watching the waves hit our little sandcastle
blowing bubbles under the bright sky
time passed quickly without even a single blink
"Goodbye summer," I bid
to the blue sky that has turned gray
to the lively trees that has only fallen leaves and rotten twigs left
and finally to the one guy I gave my warm heart to, which has now turned cold
there was a little pig he just loved the sky
hoping maybe one day he could learn to fly
he made him self some wings from branches on the floor
he began to flap the he began to soar
high up the air the little pig did fly
high up in the clouds in the bright blue sky
pig he was delighted a pilot now was he
flying through the sky flying wild and free