We are separated
Like the sky and the earth

You are filled with potential that once felt like expectation
the ruggedness of a thousand wild stallions running to the course of their strong united heartbeats
and of the sweat and blood that you've merited your endeavors with

I am filled with ribbons of gentle caresses and a familiarity with the unnoticed weight long hair brings
determination like that of the tired
ceaseless tide that rises up again each morning
and of sweet and salty compulsions

We are separated
Like the Heavens and Earth

You are more than the smell of leather and Copenhagen
You are more than the litter of miscellaneous items next to an inevitable jar of change sitting on your wooden dresser
an exact replica of the Skaggs males' before you.
You are more than calloused hands and a beautiful voice that crawls out and harmonizes with cicadas in the heavy heat lingering into the August night.
You are more than the millions of melodies you've blessed us with
More than the far away look in your hazel eyes as you master your guitar
More than your hearty laugh that delights my soul
More than your kind spirit
More than your careful words
More than your wise wife
More than your delicate girl that I hear call me Aunt
But these things stack on top of one another
Like bricks of a building under construction
Beams of titanium not unlike a skeleton protude into the clouds
Ultimately creating the tower I will proudly claim as my older brother
Directing my acquaintances' attention to the structure that
in this moment
unfinished even
eclipses the sun
Casts a shadow over me
a cool blanket of security
I know the closer that I draw to you
the less I will see of the shambles of other buildings that never compared to you
My view of the misleading wooden structures behind you that will be set afire or deteriorate in the constant turning of gears in the clock of time
will be obscured by your sheer splendor

We are separated
Like the sky and the earth underneath me

And just like the two we are connected further down
The horizon
where we will meet is filled with bittersweet triumph painted in the oranges and pinks of the sunset
I turn and see the horizon behind me
where we began
in all of its plainess
Our childhood in a gray
Hillcrest Terrace
Friday night prayer
Denim and pattles
Oatmeal and cough drops
Iced tea and lilac bushes
All threaded neatly into the full drops of rain that fall from you to I
Connecting the ground and the sky
I turn back to the front and admire what I imagine it will be
Our children's loose teeth
and long cramped car rides
Porch swings and homeschool books
Owned land and old trees
Laughter and loyalty
Irony and victory

We are separated
Like the sky and the ground

But we run in the same direction
not interrupting the others' path
I was not there with you when you let the heaviness of the thoughts in your head fall into your awaiting hands as your shoulders shook
Every ragged breath tinged with cheap whiskey
But I have followed suit of my own accord
I was not there with you when you questioned your very identity until you wondered if you would  recognize yourself if he called you by name
But I may have been caught contemplating the same
I was not there with you when you were overanalyzing one of our sisters' new boyfriend's character and gauging his deservingness
But I often did exactly that
And I was not there with you when you fell in love with your beautiful lady and decided to make her yours
But I was praying for it to be her

An endless fire burns inside me
Searching for
courage I won't have
and words I can't find
Until I can heat you with these flames
I will continue to look at you while you are preoccupied and let the words choke in my neck as reverence floods me for this man who
like his father
remains oblivious to his massive impact and priceless company

I was riding in an old blue suburban
packed full of my siblings. All bony knees and elbows
and loud familiar voices.

I gazed through the glass
and forgot myself. I looked like any other
dumb kid day dreaming
about nonsensical things to all the cars that passed.

But my eyes darted to and fro.
I distinctly remember
the irrational panic that sank like
a stone in my stomach

as we flew down the highway.
Always grappling with our irrevocable
tardiness.

My eyes were searching out the
landscape that swept by,
Trying to spot single blades of grass.
Finding inconspicuous shrubs,
concealed branches, and
subtle cracks and crevices.

It had occurred to me that things
do
go unnoticed.

And my five year old brain became bothered.
Grazing the edges of obsessive.

At the time I felt
anguish
for those forgotten.

I wanted to be the careful one.
Observant and
appreciative of those subtle splendors.

Was it simple selfishness?
The enticement of being the only one
to see what I was seeing.

Some early subconscious struggle
with originality. Prematurely grasping for
anything to set me apart.

Maybe a concoction of both.

I just know that I am
here gasping in the cold. Watching clouds of
frost pour from my mouth

And my eyes remain
darting.
From one snowflake
to the next.

Desperate to catch them before
they dissolve into the
nothingness.

Every word uttered

whether
offered or obligated
spit or sputtered
graced or given grudgingly 

bears an impeccable pin
point
of potency

Some snuffed suddenly
others
an epidemic

EXPANDING

--Demanding.

Exclaiming!
or
proclaiming

M
­    ai
        mi
              ng 
Blaming--->

Stirring up
and
then
Taming 

Careless sentences 
strewn
over laughing lips

Reiterated recollections 
and
aspirations running hot
on alcoholic
raspberry breath

What weight
but
what worthlessness
what wastefullness

Speech is
an immediate line
to your
purest heart and soul

but

Without
consideration
we are wandering
the mazes of our
very conversation
 
My words and your words
whispered or shouted
were designed to be 
Dazzling

Not crammed in 
uncomfortable pauses

Not vomited 
with cruel intent 

but

powerful and
persuasive
Accounted for
and
appreciated

I practiced my sassing in the bathroom mirror
in all seriousness until a grin and a giggle escaped in spurts.
Watching unfiltered laughter chase after
the string of bad words exiting my ****** mouth.
Lethal darts trailed by curls of silk ribbon.

Insulting my reflection wasn't nearly as satisfying as racing around on my bike
letting filthy words fly into wind that tangled my hair.
As far as I was concerned there were too many things to curse at
outside, where I belonged.
Less spankings, more freedom.

It's fair to say I was an active *******,
never waiting around for reactions.

This was my first time trying on the four letter word sweater.
I certainly didn't know how to wear it. Felt funny,
the way your stomach feels when it drops.
I liked this swearing business.
I liked it a lot.

My days were rich with aimless curses
tasting of cotton candy and I fancied myself quite the sass master.
Telling chattering squirrels that they were "stupid *****"
as they spryly leapt limb to limb.  I was filled to the brim with
pleasure found in profanity.
I rode on towards the frosty haired couple driving my way.
I considered ditching the bike to run laps around the snail paced Pinto
while chanting all of my favoritest swears.
But they were "old *****" so I left them to that.

I continued to grace cats, curbs, and cars with cross words,
smiling all the while.
It felt good
Real good.

I told off every ****** thing on my block
several times a day.
My seat melded to heinous purple bike's.
Handle bar tassels whipping my wrists, shaming me.
Beads on my spokes telling me they were sick
with the click and clack of my wheels turning, covering every inch
of that dead end street.

One day I rode swiftly down a retired grassy path behind my little house
towards the majestic tree that had cradled me in its branches many times.
It's massive leaves had raised the hair on my slender arms
as I hung with my crown
upside down, legs halved over steady limbs.

It had met my mother as well.
Her gentle voice coaxing me from its arms for supper,
sitting pretty on our back porch,
petting our fat grey cat and pondering things beyond the tree and I
in the early evening glow.
Upon my approach I can only assume that the tree was pleased to see me
despite my new found nastiness.
Wise enough to know that it wasn't a "dumb *******"
and that it wasn't going to "go to hell"

and neither was I.

So it moved from an ancient position and proceeded
to lace its twiggy paws into my hair,
yanking me and my deep seated smugness
promptly off the old bike.
Contrary to my prior endeavors mastering the casual cuss,
I opened my mouth finding curses replaced with crying
for my mother, who couldn't hear me,
resting 40 miles away through 6 feet of still soft soil.

Rooted in the same dirt, both my mother and the tree.
Silently vowing to love me well. Keeping each other company
in sediment whispers, echoing.

All she sees are unfamiliar belt
buckles and bottom row shelves
Seeking something I'm frightened
for her darting dark eyes to find
Wandering the maze of mundane
isles in the busy super store

A sunflower of panic blooming in
her small chest, pressing against her
fluttering heart as the clicking of her
tiny boots increases in tempo
She is Gretal, leaving glimpses of the
swishing pink tail of her oversized
nightgown to guide me as
she dashes around corners and legs

My strides double hers and a smile plays on my lips as
I match her pace with ease
Letting the shelves between us guard her fragile security
"Are you lost sweetie?"
My calm voice beckoning her teary eyed glance She nods
two times, certain

Her warm hand fits into mine
Together they swing like a pendulum
"I can do tricks!" she giggles
letting her feet hang Too thin I think
carrying her effortlessly
I say that her dress is very pretty Disney
princesses beam, frozen that way
I meant to say that she is much lovelier
than any fictional character

She smiles anyway

The route to the shoe department
fails to sustain its urgency
Her soft lisped chattering
ushers my foolish grin

that falls quickly when I realize
we are being watched
A stout woman wearing a malicious
mask over a face that
was once fetching before the poison
that fed her addiction

My heart drops and I pray
silently that this is not who
it inevitably will be
Her mother, to ****** her
from my strange hand
with an unyielding grip
on the little girl's upper arm

Greeting the child with a raspy
"I'm going to bust your *** when we get home"

My jaw falls open, empty
My hand falls to my side, empty
I want to fill my mouth with
chastising words towards the mother
and comforting words for the angel faced girl
I want to fill my hand with
my fingers, a fist, delivered to the woman
and take the little girls hand once again

I watch the purple hearted girl
be escorted away without
another word

Purple for her favorite color, but purple because she's been
wounded while serving her God given, God ****** mother

She smiles anyway

All I see are faces blending together
and torment
Seeking something that I'm frightened
I'll never find
Wandering the maze of mundane isles
in the busy super store

Shreds of wondering flit about like shavings of curled kindling
inside my patient breath.

Glowing red from fiery curiosity.

A picture is worth a thousand words. A question is worth a thousand pictures.
All tucked inside buried answers,

like interchangeable files filled with

tattered sepia photos of remembrance and murals outlined in
penciled wisdom and painted through imagination strokes.

Colored brilliantly by fervent feeling.

Never to be displayed in museums. Only occasionally shared with an
unfitting casualty encased in careful words,

snatched out of your thought hurricane.

"Your only flaw: you are flawless
and I just can't wait for love to destroy us."*

It's like moving underwater.
Motions tracing leisurely behind a rapid mind.
The heart bursts.
Contents dilatorily ejecting. Sharp shards of ruby splayed
in a resplendent eruption of primitivity, the pieces suspended
in seconds that last years and years, and years-
fleeting in seconds. It tastes like sunlight
and stage fright, painting the mouth a wet pink.
The eyes never truly knowing stillness
until the two gazes collide, melting into one, stuck in syrup
the flavor of searching. Teaching how to feel both
trapped and free, together in a romantic roll of quandary.  
Plains of silky naked skin, burning in lazy lines
softly remembering where fingertips grazed, caressing.
Love, I'm afraid,
is too often the beginning
of sad stories.
Stories about how the shattered pieces of bursting hearts, ruptured
by filling too quickly, too completely with the fluttering heartbeat
of another, did eventually drop.
Embedding their points in a too soft spirit.
Leaving a hot mangled meat,
the size of a fist. Damp, bleeding, raw, and barely beating.
Gushing, gushing, July to June.

People die and marriages fail
and sometime you will know what panic feels like
Bank accounts go negative
and sometimes you get lonely

I won't be staying

You may come to a halt in the middle of doing something casual,
grocery shopping or driving,
because your wondering eyes danced over strangers' faces
Suddenly remembering the ignored fragility
we all store in the yawning pools of our hearts
Knowing you could never love everyone
good enough

I'll be far gone soon

They will be given a conveniently odd shaped frame of bones
surrounded by organs, one of which will be stretched over the frame,
containing their pulsing crimson rivers
They will be told that is who they are

I won't be there to cringe as they believe it

Sometimes I get blissfully lost in the fields of sunshine
and tall swaying grass, feeling both careless and careful
An emotion that  if posed as a question would be asked,
"How could such a horrible place be so gracefully beautiful?"
And vice versa

These are temporary wonders

Hearts, limbs, and first date napkins will be twisted up in the company
of someone who's memorized face
will most likely be a struggle to recall in following years that pass like the flipping calendars in movies

I will forever forget the south side of those people

You may become so sure of yourself,
you doubt everyone else
So swaddled in your surroundings,
you lose your spirit
So invested in this journey,
you forget you are on your way

I am on mine

They will not know how to see with their eyes closed,
only sure of visible things
Falling more in and out of love with themselves every day
Suffering worthless anxieties and drowning in the sea of never surfacing
They will not see the exhausted circles in which they swim
Certain only of their unhappiness that fuels the strides

But I will outlive this life
and you will too