he watches the rain like
it's alive
but he feels less alive himself
behind him
the house turns dark
its last light going off

don't turn back
don't look back
keep going ahead

and maybe another house
and another wife
will open up before you

or maybe there'll be another
war coming
and the nation will need
your service
again

this time the fear shall be
less intense
The first time
someone points
a gun at you
you're terrified
the second time's the same
third
forth
and so on
but eventually there comes
a time when you
run out of people
to point guns at you

fifth

twelfth

forty-third

and none of them make you
feel like her eyes
watching from the window
behind the curtains
and no pulling of the trigger
and no bang
is like her voice screaming
at the kid to go away, to not look

"A stranger! That's what the
man outside is. And I'm calling
the police if he keeps staring like that.
DON'T!
you dare look at him. Go to
your room. Now."

What's a man when all
the wars are over?
A squirt gun against the sun.

His good hand, the one with
whole and working fingers
reached into an inner pocket
of his uniform, found
nothing.

He walked on
And it rained on
And there were no more wars

you don't exist when
my eyes are open
you don't exist when
my blood's not poisoned
when my soul's at peace
when my gut is full
and when I'm in company

So you exist most of the time
dear muse

I cannot recall the best advice
I got from my father
but the best
advice I got from
a man that's not
my father
is to
make friends with loneliness

If you and loneliness are enemies
you'll be lonely

but once you and loneliness are
friends you'll be solitary

The difference between loneliness
and solitude
is the difference
between
the naive kid who thinks one's
happiness depends upon others
and the wise sage who knows that
one's happiness depends
only on
one's self
and one's self alone.

"You might lose
your way one
day
but you'll never
lose me
I'm your desire
to get better
As long as you
have me
you'll keep
going."

that's what he wrote on the
back of his daughter's photo
Today makes a full year since her death

he put the photo under the front cover
of his first published book
and went back to writing what would
soon be the second

It's that simple
Just sit down with it and don't
do anything else
It works

It's the way to write
and you'll do it
once you understand
that it's
distractions
and not the so called
writer's block that's holding you back

you can't get
rid of writer's block by
force
but you can get rid of distractions
by force

Just do it.
**** them.
**** them all so
you can be happy.

And then get rid
of distractions too.

the screen
the keyboard
the small room
the closed door
locked door
closed window
blinders keeping
the sun away
a chair
an empty stomach
protesting against
tequila
more tequila

ready

you can write now

He had a big belly
but he wasn't a fat man
he wished he was a fat man

his daughter was four
and she told him that he
looked like a
turtle
born
on the wrong side of
its shell

and mother laughed.
He didn't.

Surely he would have if the
swelling wasn't a terminal
disease
a type of cancer of the
stomach and guts whose
name he struggled very
hard to
forget
but the regular visits to
the doctor kept reminding him

his wife kept laughing
she said that laughing
is the key
the best healing
Laughter and love
lots and lots of love
Love

but the other night when
he tucked the little girl
in bed and kissed her forehead and
said "I love you."
she poked her tongue at him
and said "I don't! You ugly and weird.
I love mommy and puppy Bran. Good
night." And she put her
head on the pillow and
closed her eyes.

It was I who went to the shelter
and brought puppy Bran home, he though
as he closed the door, tears
blurring his vision
He didn't go into the
bedroom where his wife
was probably asleep

he went into the bathroom
vomited
washed his face
rinsed his mouth
went into the kitchen
and grabbed the leash
went outside
and took puppy Bran
for a walk

the moon lighted their path
and the shadow of his
big, swollen belly
covered all of puppy Bran