Ashen grey, weathered wood
splintered, white bone
hollowed by the desert sun
skull and backbones
laid to rest, wind blown
sunk in sifting sands, exposed
by wet washing squalls
drinking water into steam
interwoven, dead with weeds
iridescent beetles and scorpions
glints of pyrite, diamond stones
the haunting wind, that moans
wild through hollows and holes.

Your heart - all knowing, that finds me
blooming, a lotus flower unfurling
sepals and petals, morning yellow
of golden birds, gilded meadows
of grasses green, your wisdom eyes
of flashing fields that shine
we are infinitely interwoven by
the sacred that is unspoken
by all that is divine.

You are a traveler of the South lands
brown, a leathered skin coyote
desert walker of the Sonoran sands
crafty, black magic witch
a shaman, lucid dreamer
Yaqui Indian spell weaver
of visions, of paintings in the sand
mixing colors, peyote flowers
red, the melting of the aloe bowers
dark blood, the blooming agave towers
thick with snakes, the fire and hiss
that burns black of sacaton grass
the quiver and flash of flying sparks
igniting night, time traveling to the stars.

I don’t think you care that daddy had too many drinks that night. His intoxicated soul enwrapped me with bruises and scars that will never go away.
I don’t think you care that ***** got locked out of my room, and I feel more guilty than everyone because I was not there to protect her.
I don’t think you realize that my biggest insecurity is labeled with a capital DAD entangled in my toxic heart.
Who said dads were supposed to be there for you?
My dad was at the kitchen table telling us to eat or else.
My dad was the dad who would rather chose a bottle of Gin over his family.
My dad was the one who lit the fire in my lungs, clattering up the debris, making it hard to breathe.
In all honesty, I never really learned how to breathe.
I was taught by hyperventilating cries, red puffy eyes, where everyone lies, to black and blue oceans covering up my spine
I was taught by a collision in my brain, because I can’t help the dagger that’s stuck way too deep from misfortunes and misdirections.
I was taught that no one but myself could be trusted because sooner then you know it, you might be the one jumping off the edge.  
Even with all the alcoholic rivers leading up to my room, from all the red stains flowing down my limbs.
Flows.
Did you just enjoy the flow of the venom that you injected into your veins?
Did you enjoy becoming a monster?
Did you enjoy the river flow that with every wave drowned us a little more.
Did you enjoy never becoming my father.

Oh how I miss you.
Your sweet brown eyes
The smile you give me when I'm staring at you for to long.
The way you tell me about your day and how it all got better because you got to hear my voice.
I miss how you touch me and everything seems just fine.
Your dimple on the left side of your cheek when I tell you I love you.
The way you hold my hand and kiss me
Just the way I catch you looking at me from the corner of my eye.
God I miss you.

O' bygone poet's,
For where hath
Thou gone;

O' bygone poet's,
I keepeth thee alive;
In mine poetic song's.

O' archaic poet's,
Arise from thy
sepulchre;

O' archaic poet's,
Hath thou gone
Lost; massacred.



©Brandon Nagley
©lonesome poets poetry