Why an emptiness within
with the summer wind
blowing away the dust

Why the mute tears
we weren't friends for years
but came together awhile

The earth doesn't pause to grieve
but in the heart of hearts
when a good friend leaves
the void for lifetime hurts.

my love, he enjoys the springtime.
the butterflies / they follow him
like dogs on a leash, cover him

they make him a crown from their
beating wings, like hearts upon
his head. he begs for deliverance.

only the butterflies hear his
whispering words to gods / he
hopes will hear / but he forgets

yet again / that he is a god himself
made of everything / they have ever
known. he is substance and lack of it.

i envy him with his hands of grace
his tongue / of lace instead of knives.
he asks for liberation but he liberates

my soul into worlds / unknown
filled with golden feathers and halos.
my blood runs thick / his runs thicker

with soft hair that / turns golden in
the sun, he shines as bright
as anything / i’ve ever known

brighter than the halos of the angels
filled with colors that could best
the boldest / painters, he is a painting

in motion / this i know
he is art come alive and dancing
through the clouds and heavens

to reside in the sun, where holiness
runs free like children in the street
and i hope he is never forgotten

like how he has forgotten all
that he was and should be, like
he has forgotten / someone like me.

you used to be my blue sky
on cloudy days.
now when i think of you
all i can imagine
is thunderstorms.
i dont understand
where we went so
******* wrong.
change is inevitable.
our ending was inevitable.
i know one day
i'll forget you
and you'll forget me.
i pray to god that you find
your blue sky,
just as i wish to
find mine.
and i'm sorry that
it couldn't be you.

every year
grandpa tells
the same story
over and over
like he's saying
it for the first time
he loves walking
in his own puddles
it would be
at the dinner table
during
Christmas and Thanksgiving
there's a candle lit table
waiting for good cheer
not ours
we stood sentry
to grandpa's story
as our faces glowed in horror
grandpa had that effect
he would begin
by looking at grandma
at the other end of the table
a nervousness in hers
and with a gleam in his eye
and a broken record inside
he began
there once was bag of marbles
... ha, ha
he would actually say that
and inside
all the shiny marbles cling and clung together
... ha, ha
your grandma and I
... get this
we were a red and yellow marble
and the exception
as his voice raced faster
his eyes bigger
his face a sweet melody
and he's so kid like, and he's eighty
..." we banged"
..." we banged"
the words coming out juvenile
perhaps from a drunk,
but he doesn't drink
then
on cue
he prompts us to say
you what?
"we banged"
"we banged"
..."your grandma
was in my back pocket"
his face lighting up in a smile
his eyes and ears peeking, waiting
for applause
and we did ... we did
grandma
her face beet red
she would look around the table
her eyes looking at the turkey
back at him, back at the turkey
we could read her mind
every year the same story
that's grandpa
grandma, for her part
would always
bask in grandpa's puddles

LR-4/24/17

And suddenly I realized that all of this,
The gun, the bombs, the revolution
Has got something to do
With a girl named Marla Singer.

Cornelius, Rupert, Travis, Tyler Durden
Who could really tell how many are we in a single body?
Mind creating multiple personas, good or bad
Or both could mean the same thing,
A label, a name as it is,
Could mean something or nothing

And there could always be a Tyler Durden
The Bold and Free, The Enlightened one

We see ourselves as we’d like to be
Good or Bad? Again, we decide what is right
Founder of our own fellowship
For our own Project Mayhem
For a girl named Marla Singer..
What again is a Project Mayhem?

**All I know is…
First and Second Rule:
You do not ask questions about PROJECT MAYHEM.