It never changes,
not that
no matter what
disaster
he falls into
again
and again.
He's mine,
with all
which that
entails.
I see him
always, always
smaller than he is
in real time
in real life.
I carry him
still
in my mind
and memories
as I walk the floor
and wish him
into sleep
and quiet rest.
I cry
softly
in MY sleep
seeing him now
as he is
a boy
not fitting
into the man
he's become,
and dealing
with his discomfort
like the child
he remains
inside.
He's mine.
He always will be.
some things
never change
cannot change
will not change
and he's mine
until I die.

Sometimes nothing matters,
relative to an event,
other than
the event
itself.
Sometimes nothing changes,
or impacts
or effects
an event
itself.
Sometimes nothing excuses
or justifies
or explains
an event
itself.
Sometimes an event
just is
or was
the truth of
itself.
Sometimes nothing matters
but the horror
the occurrence
of an event
itself.
Sometimes nothing matters...

I felt you pass,
saw the door open
then close
as you walked
from one room
to another.
I hope it leads you
to the places and friends
I lost before.
You'll have in common
a love for me,
genuine and unadorned,
and loyalty
and a past
and paths walked
together.
Say "Hello"
to Mike
and Johnny C
and all the rest,
give them a hug
from me.
I miss you
but feel you in
the breeze,
like the others.
The door closed,
I did hear that,
as you left
and walked away.
Goodbye old friend
I'll see you again
some day.

Dead children,                                                                                                       if you've seen them fresh,
so to speak,
look like dolls,
porcelain
white
with all the blood
drained
from their veins.
I've seen them
done them
accident or not.
Some things
you cannot be
just sorry for.
It's not enough
in the scheme
of things.
Dead children
stay with you
sleep with you
eat with you
and remind you
every day
of their demise.
Dead children
are not
to be
denied
nor forgotten
nor excused
nor
and especially
justified.
there is none
for that
not ever.
This is the tale
you walk from
and never
ever speak of.
And sadly,
the one
that defines you.
Dead children are not
and cannot
be denied.
Good night,
they say.

In my quiet times,
in my quiet rooms,
looking out
at shadows,
I see
I hear
a world
nobody else
can see.
The soft
Whiskey,
Honey tinged,
swirls in the glass
coats it
coats my
tongue
my throat
It makes my
quiet rooms
and quiet times
more real
in the fog
like so long
ago.
Nobody else
can see me
it appears
I'm a myth
or a story,
no more real
than a tale
told to
a child.
I hear the music
soft and distant
and the clink
of glasses
being washed
and set upon
the bar.
Still,
I am alone
in my quiet time,
in my quiet room
in a crowd
I cannot see.

Well yeah,
different than you?
who'd you ****?
Yeah, well
there it is
...man.
You never
washed
blood from
your fingers
yet tell
ME
how it's
done.
Yeah
that's rich
and me
I'm the one
losing skin
from scrubbing.
Well yeah,
Hell yeah
it comes
off
hard.
I'll do it again
do it
NOW
if you
I said,
YOU
push
the
issue.
Like YOU
have a
clue
why I cry
myself
to sleep.
*******
all of you
but especially
YOU.
Well yeah,
HELL yeah
it's
the Truth.

Thank you,
lovers lost,
and lovers,
never found.
Thanks to you
I rise up
and know
in my heart
where all of the holes are.
Thank you
at least
for that.
Thank you
for proof
the Sun will rise
the Moon will rise
and the Earth
will turn.
I'll love you for that
for always
and in all ways
and again,
thanks to you.
Thank you
for the love
of a smoke
in the dark.
Thank you
for simple
pleasures
made bigger
and sweeter
thanks to you.
Thank you
for kisses
in the sun
and perfumes
in the wind
and dreams.
Thanks to you
the sun
and the moon
will rise
at least for me.