The leaves are falling from the sycamore
Outside my window,
Collecting vastly beneath my pickup parked just across the street.
There once was a nest of robins that perched upon those mighty branches,
Then came a powerful gust of wind that knocked it down next to a pack of hounds.
They of course decimated the entire clutch,
And when the mother returned and landed on the now empty branch,
She dived beak down towards her nest.
Never once did her wings open before hitting the ground.
My neighbor came by next morning with an old cardboard shoe box,
It held a carcass and some cracked eggs.
I dug a hole about two feet deep near the birdbath I'd no longer need,
And placed a few pumpkin seeds above the shoe box and covered them up.
I water the patch every so often,
And the hounds howl when near the tree.
This morning I awoke to the sound of chirping,
Outside my window there stood a robin
Holding a pumpkin seed between its bill.
Spring is near, but first comes winter.
I hope, but that's really all I can do,
All there is to do,
Hope.

I never published my poems,
I never did get that promotion,
I never finished that model car,
I never completed that assignment,
I never hung that painting,
I never approached her,
I never spoke up when I should've,
I never learned to play the piano,
I never sang in a band,
I never picked up Italian,
I never fixed that window,
I never watched the entire trilogy,
I never told him I would miss him,
I never apologized,
I never pulled that trigger,
I never did shut my mouth,
I never liked Bob Dylan,
I never understood Cohen,
I never danced tango,
I never finished that bottle,
I never put it down,
I never became a nurse,
I never won at poker,
I never did half of the things I wanted to do,
and I will never finish this poem.

In another life
I'm a miserable pianist performing for a bunch of drunks in some forgotten nightclub in some big city, or perhaps in the middle of nowhere, I play better than Ray Charles, better than Mozart, I'm alone, but I'm happy.
In another life
I never left that job that made me so miserable, my body is still broken, but I have a job, and a life, and a meaning, and perhaps I died doing what I loved, I'm getting that promotion that cost me my marriage.
In another life
I don't live in this city, these four walls are not my prison, my body is not this cage that the song keeps reminding me it is, my kitchen is not freezing, my room doesn't reek of bad decisions, I still work out, I am alive, and I am living.
In another life
I'm a singer, a public performer making spare change thrown in a hat in the middle of the street in Mexico, or England, or in a corner beside a cathedral, I live on the streets, but I am happy.
In another life
I wrote the number one best-selling novel in the world, my books have been translated countless of times and I'm a poet laureate invited to galas and celebrations at the white house, and I mingle with celebrities and royalty.
In another life
I am a champion boxer, or the greatest dancer, a certified chef, a glorified grand hero, I am the Dalai Lama, or the Pope, or some great religious figure that crowds follow into perdition.
In another life
I lived the many lives I wanted to live, but not this one,
anything, but this one.

I tried to write you honey
But your boyfriend ripped all my letters
So I sent you a pigeon
He got caught up reading my poems to you
A letter in a bottle then
But I'm out in the desert with no water
And no liquor bottle to place the letter in
I tried to call you to come and save me
911 doesn't do deliveries
You used to love me first
But now I'm stuck inside a bottle
In the middle of the desert
I just hope a pigeon picks me up
And drops me high enough
To shatter into enough pieces
To resemble my heart

There's no reason to say good bye yet
I'm still breathing each gasp for you
Spare me some love if you still will
Breathe into my lips just one more kiss
Let me feel your arms around my soul
Enter one last time into my center
Kiss me ever so slowly
My body is the winter of your eyes
Yours the burning summer on my skin
Touch me so I will melt this freezing snow
And drip like cascades down your thighs
If tomorrow the sun should rise
Let us be caught like two thieves
Who risked everything for nothing at all.

20 minutes till 7
Daddy comes home through the front door and puts his keys on the hook
19 minutes till 7
You come running out of the bedroom struggling to put your sandals on
18 minutes till 7
Daddy hears the doorknob twist and the bedroom door open
17 minutes till 7
You said it was the wind or perhaps me playing around
16 minutes till 7
Daddy finds "secret uncle Rob" hiding behind the curtain
15 minutes till 7
You try to stop Daddy and secret uncle Rob from fighting
14 minutes till 7
Daddy pulls out his pistol from the nightstand and points it around
13 minutes till 7
You scream, Daddy screams, secret uncle Rob screams, I scream
12 minutes till 7
Daddy keeps apologizing
11 minutes till 7
You're crying
10 minutes till 7
I feel dizzy and heavy and I'm scared
9 minutes till 7
Secret uncle Rob runs out the door
8 minutes till 7
Daddy raises his gun and starts shouting
7 minutes till 7
You, mommy, fall down next to Daddy
6 minutes till 7
I feel cold and heavy and sleepy
5 minutes till 7
Daddy grabs his phone and calls for help
4 minutes till 7
You're not moving
3 minutes till 7
I'm not moving
2 minutes till 7
Daddy points at himself and falls down next to you
1 minute till 7
I fall asleep
7...

It is dark and scary
And everyone must live through it
Time rolls by like the wheels on a semi
At the interstate from Georgia
Down to Dallas without stops
I'm afraid
The end is coming
I'm too young to die
Too old to live
And yet the springs of my youth are flowing past without me even drinking from them.

Would you miss this world if you knew what it became?
The fire died out, the dirt was digged, the hole was made, and they put you in a pretty box,
Or maybe they cremated you,
I think she did, I don't know if that's what you wanted, you never mentioned your wishes to me.
That was because you thought you had five more decades within you.
Sadly, you didn't.
Everyone moved on, but not me.
I'm sorry I can't write you the novels you wrote.
You never did tell me your pen name,
Your alias died along with you,
I've tried asking around town,
But nobody knows that it was you who wrote the great American novel,
Nobody knows it, but me.
There is an ancient book covered in dust beneath a bookshelf that hasn't been moved in eons in a public library in a small town in Texas.
That book has your name on it.
I still remember Idaho,
I hope all the pines remember you.

I wrote you the most beautiful letter last night,
it was all scribed in the back of my mind,
and I knew once I fell asleep and awoke the next day,
I would forget, and I did, but...
I wrote you the most beautiful poem in the world,
and nobody heard it,
nobody but me.

"My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?"
I scream as I hang from my cross.
The birds come eat at my side,
I feel their beaks at my ribs,
there's blood pouring down my thighs,
I hear the droplets pooling down my toes and down onto the wet dirt.
The crowd murmurs and stares and I see no pity in their eyes,
but rather, a darkness,
a sense of expectation and wonder, waiting for the next spectacle to begin.
I have been abandoned by the almighty.
"Hineni my lord!"
Still, Death does not embrace me.
Behind me the veil is pierced and
above me the skies fall down.
The man with the longspear returns with a leather canteen and gives me salt water.
Two convicts beside me share my fate,
"Your God has abandoned us,
Curse him while there is still breath in your lungs!" The accused to my left shouts through the pulp where his mouth had once been.
"Remember me! Speak to your father on my behalf when you return to his kingdom". Begs the thief on the right, his sight now taken from him.
I close my eyes and await what is to come.
The nails sting deeper into my palms,
My fractured ankle bones give out.
The wind caresses my cheekbones,
It sings a secret chord, a final melody.
I taste the salt and iron on my lips.
A scent of lilies lingers the air.
I breathe in, I breath out,
It is done.

My father used to say,
"You don't have friends,
You have associates, or acquaintances,
And you can count your true friends with your ten fingers and you will still have fingers left."
He knew best regarding friendships,
He was once a member of a mafia with a specific job that involved torturing others.
Before that, he was in the service, and rarely spoke of it, there were no portraits of him in uniform around the house, although he always raised the American flag in our front yard.
I never saw my father hang out with anyone,
Or ever tell my mom he was going out for drinks or an afternoon with the guys,
No one ever came to visit, nor did we ever go to anyone's house.
He was sober for at least 20 years,
Way before I was born back then.
He would sleep long into the night and sometimes would begin screaming when he remembered the things he's done.
I always thought my father was crazy,
I had lots of friends left and right,
And I knew I could count on them and they on me.
After all, I was always there when they needed me, that is, until I needed them.
Slowly I began to notice that
I was everybody's friend,
But I have no friends,
I have associates.

Hold on a little longer
Oh heart of mine!
Keep on beating just a little further
Ticking time bomb of my life
Grab on just a little more
Till I see my children grow old
Know that although I don't treat you well
I yearn to see those little moments I'll miss
Hold on by God my ever wondering heart
Don't fail me now that I'm beginning to live
I know I've given you away to many and one
And so carelessly much more
But oh my breath of air
We've learned to love one soul
One body, one mind, one heart
Life has beat us over and over
but through push and shove
I beg you heart of mine
keep on beating one more time!