Consider me a circle
With a single piece that's gone
Rolling through my life
To try and figure out what's wrong
I continue moving
to fill my missing part
Though I am denied
I just try to find my heart
It's harder than I think
Finding pieces big and small
I'm running out of options
I think I've tried them all
And then I find the one
It seems to fit just right
And for the life of me
I just hold on so tight
But it starts to crumble
a pile on the floor
I spend a second looking
Before rolling towards the door
And then after a while
It all happens again
I find another perfect piece
My heart is on the mend
But this one isn't tight enough
It slips right from my grasp
And now my piece is gone again
Remaining in the past
And though this may be difficult
To roll with such a hole
I keep looking for my missing piece
With hope filling my soul
We catch each other's faces
From other ends of the store
We're walking towards eachother
I remember us in grade school
Giggling about which girl
was the cutest
Like six year old men do
And other life lessons
Which I'm sure stuck with me
And about friendship
I knew you then
Like a brother
So now here we are
After some years
Running into each other at a grocery store
I wonder why you're in town
I wonder how your life has been
I wonder what happened with your parents
There's so much to catch up on
So much to laugh about
And to cry about
We're pretty close now
I shove into my pockets for my cell phone
You throw your hood over your face
And pretend you need to go down a different aisle
I pretend to look at canned soup
You think I might not remember
You think I don't know your name
And possibly you have forgotten mine
It is better to ignore these things though
For the sake of a small possibility
It could have been uncomfortable
i had thought of air in the aesthetics
but earth was found instead
a combination lock undone
within a sunlit wood
corrugated cardboard encasing
mistaken for attrition, lifting,
no small walls from feet unsteady
all thoughts, (heady),
settling motes of caffeine dreams
on the mantle
as it snows
i had thought of earth in the art house
but air was found instead
a frightened clock has been rewound
within a clouded head
Sadness is a stone
being washed over with tears
held in your hands, rubbed over and over,
until it is so smooth you have no reason to keep it.
Most people take their stones
and make a path over water,
trading their small ones for larger ones,
realizing the weight does not make a difference
in how a stone strikes you.
You carry many stones
of your own volition,
you are bruised all over,
your stones attached to your feet,
your hands are filled with sharp pebbles.
I cannot help you so I take mine
and cry for you instead.
You smile and tell me not to worry,
but I cannot help thinking you will walk too far
without putting any stones down
and you will die.
I will watch you sink,
scouring an edged stone the size of my heart
until it is guiltless and placid
and my hands are bleeding.
Declared to be the home of the ants,
the barn was, also, shared by the dogs
and the big lizards who stored
formidable teeth opposite the nipping
mandibles. Each moment the favorite
spaces became temples traversed by
wandering dotted lines while,
certainly, a pause to clean the claws
gave time for articles of memory. Attire
provided a music festival to brighten the
warm days with delicate sounds within
dark recesses where chilly dust filtered
the beams to secure the rafters. Along
these trails, the plight was relieved; the
threat was removed to slumber waiting
for a wind swept rush of fur. Pulling
the shutters back from the eyes, the
working specks of the ants proclaimed
their choices and followed these
implications into predicaments leading
them to be wise. The influence
demonstrated the passing of lives into
praise for the correct answers by which
the ways advanced to persist. There was
plenty of empty, sweet time hovering
above their heads yet leaving them
impatient to see a transpired eternity,
gathered in a massive tribe, ready to
explore the encroaching season with its
microscopic grasses and piles of stone.
As an institution, the old, red building
weathered its boards in the valley,
forgotten by more pragmatic industries
in cans and bottles of plastic. To wear
the collar of the ant or the lizard was a
rare honor not granted in the homes
of many house wives. It was as rare as
gold to find lodging with the fascinating
mercy of the human outlook. It was a
great deal of trouble to look after these
others, small or large as they might be.
Seemingly, it was difficult to explain the
logic intended to regulate the wild,
independent lives, and, as they were
misguided, an anger tended to drive them
closer rather than away. Under the skin,
it was very close to an intolerable form of
humor, but what explained itself as being
very funny also remained the hostility
alienated and inevitable, like the slamming
horns of the sheep and goats, like the poetry
of the birds and the herds.
What a specjal day I remember 6/29/1990. I remember that small cry from a new born baby at exactly 10:10pm. I remember watching over him when he was one day old as his mother went back into the hospital for ten days to have surgery. I remember how unsure I was that week and scared to death. I remember his gentle smiles when I walked into the room and his eyes when he saw something new. I remember our walks in the park along the trails to see the deer and his excitement to get a .99 cent disney video from the Blockbuster. Back then thats all I could afford. I remember the game rooms and movie theaters and the holding hands and little kisses and hugs. I still remember every word of our special prayer and the father and son song I made up and yes made him sing..lol. Watching as he ran with his friends down the street and seeing him look back to make sure I was still there and that smile, oh that smile. I remember rockets in the park, the boat rides, sitting him on the gas tank of my motorcycle and giving him a ride around the parking lot time and time again. I remember him sitting on his great grandfathers lap and giggling and hoping I would get the chance to see my great grandchild. I remember every Tuesday and Thursdays phone calls at 7 pm just to hear his voice after he was moved to Florida. Sometimes I would get him on the phone and and sometimes I would leave a message but those calls meant the world to me and allowed my week to be just a little better. I remember all of our long and short talks for advice and how he actually listened. Teaching him to drive a stick shift and how he picked it up so fast. His first girlfriend when she came over and said hi and after she left I said who was that, he said I dont know but im going to find out and I just laughed. I remember every year taking vacations to Florida just to see him and then four times a year his trips to Ohio to see me. I remember all the tears from both him and me as he boarded a plain to fly back to Florida. I remember the extended family and how much everyone helped out when he was so young. Dont know how I could have survived without that help back then. Christmas parties, and gatherings and how as a young man he helped me propose to my now ex wife. His graduation from high school, his friends and all the places he has worked. I remember how happy I was he decided to live in Ohio and go to Ohio State and how I was more excited on his first day of college then he was. I remember how sweet he was when he knew my heart was broken and how the son tried to comfort his father when I got a divorce. There are so many thing that I cant even begin to list but most of all I remember and still feel the unconditional love he has for me and I for him. Today is my sons birthday and although he is now a man of 23 we spend time together almost every day. He is always my son first but has also grown into a friend and a great young man. Kylor, I Love you son, always and forever. Dad
Christmas was the one day of the year when the guns died away...
There were soldiers from two different sides and two different worlds,
But we all spoke the same language on Christmas.
December 24th, 11:50 pm
There are only 10 precious minutes until Christmas.
I can hear gunshots BOOMING and BANGING on all sides around me...
The sky is like a piece of black velvet.
It looks simply stunning when compared to
The snow that is marred with blood more red than drunk, bloodshot eyes.
All around me,
I see men gasping, gulping, and grabbing for air.
I can see the heat rising from their decaying bodies.
I have been instructed to not help them.
They're just gooks after all...
They don't live, breathe, and bleed just like you and me.
They are monsters who crave American blood...
December 24th, 11:59 pm
The guns are more heated than ever.
My adrenaline is racing.
The crisp, frosty air is kicking my ass right now.
The tears that I have shed are now frozen to my face.
My legs are numb and no yet waking,
My frigid pate is aching,
My blackened heart is breaking,
My blue hands that hold my damn gun are shaking,
And I can taste blood whenever I swallow,
But I cannot stop running.
I've been told that I'll die if I do...
December 25th, 12:00 am
Guns cease to fire...?
"Why have they stopped firing?"
I shout to my neighbor.
He just grins like the little boy he truly is, and simply responds,
All over the battlefield,
Men hoot and holler with joy and glee.
Each man is a little boy, once again.
The only guns we know of are plastic and squirt water...
But in the adult world,
The guns and insults stop.
In their place,
Men sing praise to the God they often curse,
And remember Rudolph, Frosty, and the other childish characters who used to make them innocently smile.
December 25th, 12:10 am
Every man who has not yet fallen has found a place to rest his head for the night.
We temporarily become friends with our enemies.
Friends, obviously, meaning people who agree to not shoot at each other for a mere 24 hours...
My buddy pulls out a flask from his sack,
And he spreads a little "Christmas Cheer" around the trench.
We all act like camels, and retain as much cheer as possible...
We'll need all the cheer we can get if we're going to survive for more than five minutes in the next round of hell.
December 25th, 12:00 pm
We take the time to sleep...
We take the time to quietly talk about our girls back home...
About the families that we've left behind...
About the food, activities, and places we miss most...
We make the most of every small, yet precious, moment that goes without a shot or kill.
For a minute,
I forget where I am.
I am actually happy for a moment.
December 26th, 12:01 am
We remember that we're supposed to kill each other,
So I let my gun do all the talking for me.
Christmas is the only time to be friends...
Any other day is a day to kill.
Christmas is a universal language.
Evidently everyone can understand it...
I guess it's just mutual that we take the time to NOT kill each other.
So are we going to kill each other until there are no more men standing?
If it were up to me, every day would be Christmas...
Then I could actually go home.
I want to look at myself while I laugh
and see myself not on your eyes but through them.
I want to see how I react with you
because I know it is not as graceful as I envisioned.
I want to know the ultimate truth
of why your hair ruffles in the wind,
And why your smile spreads across your entire face
and drifts into my blush.
I want to know
why I hate to love you
because I was taught to dislike
You never realise how small you are until your expelled carbon dioxide is swallowed into infinity at midnight and you'll never ever see how far each atom goes no matter how good your binoculars are no matter if your vision is superhuman you'll never keep track your cloud will disappear and melt into darkness as you squint in your temporary bubble searching in the empty space.
What was once a part of me is
Never to be seen
"Have you forgotten your ticket... or your luggage?"
Because I wish you did.
I wish we both Had forgotten everything behind, included clothes,
and this bench was a bed, a small bed, so you would have to sleep on my chest.
Tomorrow will be another day. Tomorrow will be another day without check in, without gates, without running, without reading books,
without delays, without waiting queues, without sweat, without planes landing, without the morbid wishes for a plane to crash, without escalatores everywhere, without you.
How I hate airports... How I love airports.
Fucking Airports... full of their welcome laughs and goodbye tears, their happy endings and melodramatics departures.
The sad concept of living it's all condensed in this place. You are never happy with what you got till you are sad for what you lost.
But I was happy with you. I was happy at the Dublin Airport.