There are monsters
whispered about by sailors
in tavern fairy tales, through
nervous anecdotes

Speaking about something
will give it life
it will come to you
from the darkest corner
of the Mirror.

You are just another
swallowed sailor
from a ship with loose lips
and burnt candle mirrors

Our story is whispered
by sailors in tavern
fairy tales about the times
when the best that it is
isn’t enough to save yourself

from the darkest corner
of the mirro

BG-4/8/17

Being here,
with you there
is killing me

No drink special,
No positive thought,
No drug changes

the fact that a piece
of my life is literally
(figuratively)
missing

The love we shared,
your mother and I,
burned away in the
early morning hours
just like Bukowski said

I didn't understand what he meant
when I heard him say it, but with
every drink I'm starting to understand

how, but not why

And why is why we're here
isn't it?

I never wanted children,
but when I held you for
the first time wrapped
in a blue blanket with the
sun shining through the window
and landing on your untouched
cheeks for the first time

all I wanted was you. All I wanted
was to hold all eight pounds of
you forever in my arms

I never wanted to let you go,
I never wanted to leave,

She told me she would bring
you back and life would be
complete

and so I drove back home,
but knew Home wasn't where
I was going

We would take matching family
pictures, and she would paint
and I would come home from
work with a paycheck the world
promised with a college degree

But that's not what happened.

And I'm sorry for everything,
Bad sons make terrible fathers,
but mine was the best I could
ask for

and I'm still trying to live
up to his standards for you

and it's hard because he
worked and worked

stopped writing,
stopped drinking
for me and it kills me
to think I'll never be like
him, no, it kills me
because I'll never be as close
to being God as he was,
as he is,
as he will be remembered

Alpha, Omega, never
Beta, just a better man
than I am with the strength
to hold a family together

Stronger than my mortal heart,
Stronger than whatever lurks
in the dark

I've fallen prey to my demons
and killed my angels in ways
I hope you'll never learn,

people ask how you're doing
and when the last time I saw
you was and what I wanted to
show and tell you

and my heart breaks, and my life
escapes in timed gasps between my
lips and I can only answer

in blood drips on the floor,
and words fueled by weakness
and insecurity,

and if I could still believe
in God and send a prayer
I would ask that he would read
these words
you can't see yet

and whisper them into your ear,
so that with every heartbeat
you have an answer for why we're
here,

You have an answer for reckless
actions of love fueled by youth

So you can understand that love,
while it may not be always eternal,
still means something long after
the carcass has decayed in the sun

Your mother and I,
were in love once and we
charged the stars like we were
their power source

One day, when you read these words
please don't hate her,
please don't hate me,

We only wanted what was best
for you, and somehow that got
transcribed as you being there
and me being here

with a full glass of
alcohol,
questions,
love

for you.

Black Chuck Taylor's, with motor
oiled stained laces,
always match

Black V-necks or a shirt of any
color with a Black
zip-up hoody

Blue jeans, stone washed, brand
new, old pair, new style,
always denim

Black matches everything,
looks classy, hard to keep
clean

But when blue and purple,
orange and green,

and some shades of green
and yellow look the same,

Fashion isn't so fun and shopping
becomes an exercise in humility

"Excuse me miss, does this shirt
match this tie?"

"Excuse me sir, but can you tell me
what color shirts I can wear with
these shoes?"

The world doesn't understand.
I don't see the same colors of
the world and I'm clothed
Black

not from depression,
no, not that depression,
a different kind

The kind that's only mine

The kind that can stand by you
and watch a different sunset,

The kind that sees different hues
in A Starry Night,

The kind that would love to paint,
but can't even draw the lines
to color inside of, much less
paint the right colors in the first place

It's crazy to think of seeing the world
through another's eyes
but if we ever figure it out
Hold my spot in line.

When it's in the air
you'll not know what it
is at first, but once you
smell it once you never
forget

It lingers there as you walk
through it, hanging
in the air as prokaryotic
pill shaped molecules

It always smells different
but the symptoms are
as follows

words stuck in the back
of your throat,
sweaty palms and shortness
of breath
a sense of longingness
juxtaposed
with a sense of fear

An overwhelming need
to communicate all the
new thoughts on your
stone written findings
of what we need to survive

Don't be alarmed, or rush
off to the doctor thinking

"There is something wrong
with me"

We all breathe this in,
multiple times in our lives,

Love's pathogens have a way,
of infiltrating our senses and
controlling our thoughts and
actions like our physical bodies
are more of a third party parasite
to what our souls need
to feed on.

So don't choke on your words,
reach out with dry hands for hers,
the fear will always be there,
because that's love
and this is how we react
when it is in
the air.

On the other side
of my over  
                 thinking

I’ve come to realize I still have
more questions
                         than answers

The future feels just the same as
it did ten years ago when my now
was my future
                       then

Friends are more often
thought about
                       than visited

when later today turns into tomorrow
and tomorrow turns  
                                into this weekend
and then next weekend
once a month  
                        whenever you can

because time pushes us all into
this strange thing
                            called Life

and it’s full of all kinds of *******
designed to rob you of
your money
                    your sanity
                                       your time

but don’t let this discourage you
from greeting tomorrow
                                      with open arms

and a head full of more questions
than answers

The magic doesn’t seem
to happen as often,
but on the days it does

You have a good day at work,
you pay all the monthly bills on time,
your schedule syncs with an old
college friend and you meet for
coffee, or street tacos from a
local food trailer, or you shoot
pool and whiskey at a dive bar
early Saturday evening

and it feels like the old times again,
and you learn the things you did
were your first stumblings into
adulthood and even though they
sometimes change the way you walk
forever, it’s those times you discover
again when you start your third game
and the songs you queued on the jukebox
start playing and now that you can enjoy
the taste of good whiskey more than the
quantity of well, and all the loose fragments
of the memories we carry every day, left open
on the table in a journal with more strikeout
lines than unmolested phrases all become
complete with each corner pocket called
shot, each memory recalled and retold with
language alluding Greek Epics and Shakespearean
Tragedies,

It all starts to make more sense in ways
and stops making sense in others,

and the future is the same as it always was

some things
                    you can change,
some people
                    you can keep
some days
                  turn into weeks,
                  months, and years
                  trying to make sense
of what’s coming,
of what’s gone,
of just what, exactly,
                                we have now.

If you're reading this and you can understand what's being said

I'm sorry,
It's too late for you

The World pushed us into each other
because I wanted you to find me

When I started writing, I thought I had
something to say that no one has

said before, but I've recently found out
that not much has changed except

the ways that we hate one another
and even that, hasn't changed much

Stop for a second, remember yourself
as a child, you remember

playing baseball in the backyard
with your brother or

holding your father's hand for the first
time crossing the street

Remember how you thought things
would never change?

Brothers eventually move away,
and now you cross streets without

even looking both ways, with your hands
stuffed into your pockets

Now, you get it, how the World pushes
everyone around until one day

you wake up in an old town
you've lived in for four years

and you think,

When did the World
get so ******* ugly?

Then you realize, it always was,
you just needed one final push

one final departure, one last pitch
for Glory,

to understand that, but not one
good reason for why,

Why?

Because when we grow older,
we get sick of striking out,

and we learn our Fathers were never Gods
just Men wanting one more

home run,
street to cross,

One more chance to prove
that the World doesn't always win,

If you're reading this,
I'm sorry,
It's already too late,

Here comes the ******* ball again,
swing for the fences

Show the world what you can do
with your last chance

I'm waiting for you with open arms
at Home plate