After ten years, she knocks on my door again.

I try to speak.
I want to say something,
anything,
but I cannot seem to find the words.
I didn't think I would,
or that I could,
feel this much.
All I can do is stare at this apparition of my childhood companion,
who now holds her own child in her arms.


With eyes wide and mouth agape, I finally manage to splutter out
"Welcome back."

I am empty as the parking lot is after a concert or a football game
There's merely trash on the ground, crushed beer cans, char from the barbecues. The good times are over and now it is just empty with memories of happiness littering the floor. The street lights are bright and if I stare around I can see my loneliness spreading out in every direction.
I am empty as the beach is at night. When families and couples have returned home, tucked away and safe. Warm. Whispering sweet nothings. They've forgotten about the beach for now. Yet I am still here with the cold water wrapping itself around my ankles. My feet sinking into the sand as I wish it would simply swallow me whole. I am still here, gazing up at the moon and stars, wondering why.
Lastly I am empty as my glass is at the bar. Here I am not so lonely. Maybe someone will tell me I'm pretty. For a little while maybe someone will make me forget.

Some people die in Texas.
Some people die in Spain.
Some people die in their sleep.
Some people die in pain.

We were all in love with trauma.
We were all in love with the same
ideas we projected onto people
and disguised with their name.

I don't live in nine-eleven-land
and neither do my peers.
I've been monitored by other people's Gods
for twenty-two ******* years.
Coffee pots and cigarettes
stimulate my day
and keep the thoughts streaming,
that eventually fade away.

Some people die in Utah.
Some people die in Prague.
Some people never get married
or have the family dog.

We were all in love with status.
We were all in love with goals
that would make life poignant
and make ourselves whole.

I don't subscribe to the thought
that my thoughts necessarily matter.
If life is a horror movie,
then I'm the fake blood splatter.
Bible thumps and dead eyes,
are all part of my design,
and how I live and where I die
means to separate my mind.

The heart of the lamb cries out
The locusts crawl from beneath the Earth
Chop off the head of the ram boy
The plagues are here and sacrifice is in order

The dead will rise again
And will be swiftly devoured by lions
But the lions will get poisoned and die
The plagues are here and sacrifice is in order

The men, women and children will run
But there will be no opportunity to hide
For this time no one shall be spared
The plagues are here and sacrifice is in order

For it is too late, blood must be spilled
The Earth shall be decorated in pagan colors
Wine will turn to the blood of the disease and they will cry for mercy
The plagues are here and sacrifice is in order

One year
This is for you
You that counts time in moments
You that has stopped claiming to know things like the back of your hand because time has made your body a strange place
This is for my grey haired aunties and two stick uncles
One year is 365 sunrises and sunsets, It’s 52 crepes, It’s 8409600 breaths, It’s 2 coffins, It’s 10000 steps that if I placed on a map would show I never really went anywhere
It’s 100 I miss yous and 10000 I miss you too, It’s 2 I love yous still finding their way out of my mouth
Apologies to those of us that had to search for eulogies in old albums this year.
Congratulations to those of us that could search for eulogies in old albums this year