You can’t smell it anymore,
static cuts out the radio,
it’s the new
aftertaste in water.
&
the smell
of someone’s house
you’re visiting for the first time,

Gawking at old buildings,
hearing syllables differ-
ntly, speaking the same,
different, words heard

A new kind of music and the scent
of childhood

You think you could
stay here, escape

You feel your soul
change, and your heart
beats stronger

There is nothing to fear.

There is nothing ***** here.

How the thunder
and lightening
give you a new
but old kind of fear

but the rain washes everything
the same.

Thirty years of monthly
payments for a roof,
garage, and backyard,

The house burns down
the day you pay
it off,

A brand new model,
heated seats, leather
wrapped steering wheel,
more speakers than
you can hear,
pride and joy,
taken from you
by some careless *******,
focused on "Me"
not focused on red
lights or stop
signs.

The frame is bent,
airbags deployed,
the insurance
writes you a check
and sends a form
apology with next
month's bill.

The newest clothes
aren't so new,
once they're washed
twice,

but we base our wealth
on fleeting things,
wood, status symbols
and cotton,

We pay ourselves
by saving money
already spent,
and paying old bills
so we can have new ones,

Wealth isn't tied to these
temporary things, easily
replaced by more
work and money

No

Wealth is created,
easily sustained,
by good night kisses,
road trips just because,
and matching shirts
for family pictures,
things that make us
remember how to be
happy,

because we are all temporary,
but our love is
not so easily
replaced.
So even if
you rent, or
you take
the bus
or you have clothes
in your closet for years

The time spent
with people you love
wil always cover
you until the
next paycheck
you've already spent
anyway.

Crystal White Pearl paint,
red racing stripes,
MX-5 traced
on the side

Lightweight aluminum
alloy, seventeen inch
wheels wrapped in
205/45 summer
performance tires,

Limited-
Slip Differential,
rear wheel drive,

Six-speed manual
transmission, weighted
shift ****, perfectly
palm-sized

Black sport clutch
bucket seats, seamed
racing red stitching, a clutch
worked with a snap
of the heel, a flick
of the wrist.

Crystal White dash panel,
red racing stripe
MX-5 traced lines
match the stripes outside.

Piano Black
mirrors match
bucket seats
and the cloth
soft top

unfolds on summer days,
spring nights, fall
mornings.

Heaven/
Nirvana/
Happiness

found
now
with a snap of the heel
& flick of the wrist.

Father,
grandfather,
father's grandfather,

all died
by the blade.

Father's grandfather
fell fighting one hundred.

Grandfather
fell fighting too.

Father
fell fighting as well,

while protecting his
wounded troop.

All these men
put up a fight,

they did what they
had to do

It runs in our veins,
we stay the same,

destined to do
what we do.

Our grandmothers hug
our grandchildren,

while they still can

widows
tell their sons
when they're old
enough to use
a blade

so one day,
whenever my son

asks where father
went off to

tell him
it runs in our veins

tell him
I will see
him soon.

Clean title.
Low miles.
Everything works.
No negotiations.
Cash only.

Blown out
**** filled ashtray,
bedsheets without
her coconut scent.

Browsing in the bookstore,
I stumbled across
a journal

crammed with scraps
people found

in parking lots,
school yards,
fished out of trashcans.

Now I throw
copies of everything
I write away.

I'll never go back,
left a trail of gasoline
and dropped a lit match

Once I was a Hero,
the Hero of my back yard.
My sword, faith and shield were handy,
kept my face unscarred.

I would fly on wings of ravens,
ride on the backs of beasts,
sleep under the Ice from the west,
rise with the Fire from the east.

I saved many fair maiden,
slew gremlins, ghosts, and goblins,
found ancient treasure from past kings,
ran through numerous gauntlets.

I commanded a battalion of knights,
who would shout my name with pride,
I wonder if my people have missed me,
since the day I grew up and died.

I saw you in a picture today,

A Family Christmas Card.

Your face looks like mine
you can see it in the eyes
especially when you smile.

He's smiling
Holding you in his arms
like you belong there

She's holding your brother
like she held you
in the few pictures we took

Together.

But there's something
not quite right
with this picture.

You can see it in your eyes,
especially when you smile.

Some things will
never be
Perfect.

Foot:
I've had enough
after being put down,
'tis time to raise up
turn things around.

***:
I'm well constructed, sturdy
some would say,
I challenge you good sir
Boot away.

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.

It's hard to say,
You can't really tell.
I hope you have insurance
I wish you well.

When you get this note,
know that I'm an honest guy,
just send me a text
and I'm sure
my insurance will
set you up right.

I couldn't wait, I didn't know, you promised
something else, the moon shone there and I could hear
them moving all around, it burst my heart when
your horse galloped down.

yes I do have insurance.
actually, it lapsed last Tuesday

FRIDAY
1:00 – 3:30

I swept the packing area.
Three neat piles of duct tape,
plastic wrap, saw dust, dumped
into a trashcan. Made
another mess while packing
toys into boxes for the
community’s Angel Tree.

MONDAY
11:15 - 12:45

A self-proclaimed alcoholic
asked me for a cigarette. He
preached to me with an unsteady
tongue and hollow eyes. I met a case
worker named Maria and alphabetized
children’s names and Christmas wishes.

2:30 - 4:30         

Stapled $7.00 price tags
to shirt collars, pants pockets,
working alongside a man
who served ten years in
prison. He finished loading
a shopping cart and I pushed
the items into the store.
I put cracked ceramic plates,
dusty books, and twisted wire
roosters onto an empty shelf.

TUESDAY
2:30 – 3:30         

Maria turned the wish forms
into Captain Smith. I went
to the Captain’s office and
entered Christmas wishes
into a database. Captain Smith
tapped her fingers on the desk,
hummed along to her Christian
radio station and talked about
the importance of volunteers.

3:45 – 5:00          

The yard on the east side
of the store needed to be
cleaned. Plastic wrap blown
into the barbed wire fence
surrounding broken computers,
archaic metal heaters, and
miscellaneous types of scrap.
After we loaded the trailer
I swept the packing area
and smoked a cigarette.

WEDNESDAY
11:15 – 1:30          

I finished entering the
forms into Captain
Smith’s computer
while she was out
at lunch. I walked around
outside but I didn’t find
the drunk. Captain
Smith signed my
completion of volunteer
service sheet and joked,
“I guess we won’t be
seeing you again.”

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.

They say
the wicked never rest

but we must all close
our eyes from time
to time,
Both
the wicked
and the divine,

The divinely wicked,
the wickedly divine,
what dreams are born
from those sleep
deprived souls,

Reaching for something new,
something different,
with sharpened talons
and mother's wings,

So when you close
your wicked eyes,
dream big,
awake refreshed
and become divine
any way you can.

Don't sleep
until the day
is yours
and only
yours.

Wake up
and do it again.

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

There's a bluebird in my heart
too,

but unlike
yours

I like to let mine out
from time to time,

I let him spread his wings
I let him sing

his songs to me
& to the world,

My bartenders like him,
he's how I've gotten most
of the ****** into my bed

and he doesn't mind the smoke,
everyone needs a drag
from time to time,

He's the one
who prefers Jameson
and told my tongue
to not drink
much else,

I don't hide him,

But I'm not mad
that you hid yours away

I'm glad you did
because as much as you
inspire me and make me
want to share my songs

with the world,

I'm glad I'm not as angry
as you made yourself out
to be,

I get it, the image
is everything about
what seperates the men
from the boys,

and at this point I think
I'm all grown up
and we're stuck together
with the same fate,

So I let my bluebird sing
Bukowski,
because more than anything

your songs taught me

how to ****
what the world thinks.

And thank you for lying
to me

You old, drunk *******,

Because you let your bluebird
fly, you know it

and may the gods bless you
for not even trying.

I love you
*******.

Just one question,
Are you crying now?

Did you know
over 100,000 people
die every year by
careless drivers, slippery stairs,
not following printed directions,
lapses in common sense,

These are common errors we share.

Some of us get lucky,

we evade, we clutch the banister,
we start at step one,
We double check electrical wires,
& carry scissors blade down,
never running.

People die at work all the time,

on the Monday morning drive,
rear ended in traffic on a rainy
Thursday night.

The 9 to 5 can take you,

spirited away at the desk
during a 45 page monthly report,

you get to cell C83
on worksheet 8
and your heart explodes
from stress,

blood vessels burst in
your brain like black cats
on Halloween night
from strain,

All for a gold watch,
a 401 k,

so your wife can smile
and your children can
play in their backyard.

We do it for 48 hours we can
call our own.

5 days of Hell
for two days in Heaven

means the devils
get their dues
and the gods
give yours to you.

Oh, Weekend
Mourn,
How I love thee.

I wake up
when I wake up,
no alarms needed.

Sometimes I shower after
coffee, sometimes after
dinner.

Death leaves me alone
leaves me to my
streaming movies,
old books
and my poetry.

Oh, Weekend
Mourn
How I love thee

No worksheets.
No stress.
No Death.

Until Monday,

everything is fine,

until Death wakes me
with a whisper

"Get up,
It's almost time."

Oh, Weekend
Mourn
How I love thee.

let off
clutch in
switch gears
clutch out
back on

The sun came in
from the window behind
and as it touched his face
for the first time

he slowly opened his eyes, smacking
his lips and we

saw each other for the first time.
In that moment,

I saw God,
naked,
embarrassed like Adam,
cheeks flushed like Eve.

The sun glistened off vernix, and he
stared up at me, smelling like her.

I watched the world change, empires toppled, islands sunk,
transitioning from one age into another. I saw dreams
sparkle like firecrackers at midnight.

The lies I’ve taught myself to believe
would never be good enough
for him.

I kissed his forehead,
she smiled,
and God just stood there,
naked and blushing.

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.

SPF 40,
cheap sunglasses,
Alcohol
when you shouldn't drink,
a weekend all season long,
until the pools close
until you lose
your sunglasses,
until you wake up
on your back
in your back yard,
blanketed by red, yellow
and orange
leaves

When she's new
everything's perfect.

Sometimes early
on you have stall-
outs

A few here
and there
isn't
really a
big deal.

It happens
to us all.

As you learn her
your confidence
grows and you
learn how she
likes it
and how she
likes your style.

You need
to listen to her
she will tell you
when it's too fast
or too slow.

When you held on
too long
or were too slow
to let go.

The stench of your abuse
will fill your
nostrils

make you sick
to your stomach
and when she starts
screaming,
but not going anywhere

you'll smell this in
her words.

One day, soon
she will break
because of you
because that's how she's
made

But in about ten
hours, one thousand
or so dollars later

She will be
like new
again.

She will be

Perfect.

My next-door neighbor
is building a rocket to the
moon.

He has been at it for weeks,
banging, buzzing,
waiting for that one song,
his song, on the radio.
He will wipe the sweat

from his face climb into
the hatch and start the countdown.
One day, he told me about his life.
Separated, paying six hundred

dollars in child support
and taxes a month. Thirty-three,
living in the room he grew up in.

One day soon.
He was going.

Too little,
The rabbit,
Bukowski,

counted,
scheduled,
realized

that the clock
is unkind
and fate
unkinder,

In college
I went home
regularly

but the work week
doesn't have winter
or summer break,

and this town
isn't home yet
but it's the closest
thing to it,

Nights like
this I smoke
cigarettes on
my porch,

think about
what being a good son
is,

think about the nights
I didn't show up
for dinner when my dad
got home from his
forty hour weeks,

but it's all the times
I was there that bother
me the most.

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.

The only French I speak,
I learned
from the
uncrossable space
in bed

You.

Me.

I learned it
when we started
to just say bye
in the mornings

When we stopped
hugging after
work,

When I was too busy
playing games,
watching Netflix,
on my phone,

and you had already cleaned
the kitchen, put away the laundry,

You wanted something
you won't take now
because I wasn't too busy and I don't even play that game anymore, and I can't remember the shows but I'm sure they are still on Netflix,
and phones will always be a distraction from people to put everything down and take off the masks
we make so we can breathe
every day and connect as people. In those moments, I started missing you and you were already missing me. I just really wish I could stop going Supernova but there's a slowly swirling marble rock ball that's slowly making its way from sitting in fire of the pits of my stomach,

rolling up my chest, bouncing off ribs, escaping to the small of my back, rolling up my spine, spinning
counter clockwise
in figure eights
across my shoulder blades until it sits over my heart and sinks to my
Stomach
Again.

Now I've lost form and more and I really just need to get my

**** together and restart.

Look at what you've done
to my poetry.

BG-4/10/17

to whoever/(whomever)
whatever
is
up there
listening or
isn't

I guess it's time to reveal the truth,
It's not like I've been lying to you

but I haven't really formally introduced
myself to you, and I've been thinking

It's time to let you in so I can offer
you a cigarette and you can

drink my finest wine while I tell you
that Grizzo is something more

than a childhood nickname that stuck
to the bottom of my shoes like

parking lot gum, or your grandmother's
lipstick on your cheeks, you see

I was quiet, shy, and entering puberty
when people started calling me Grizzo

Some people in high school and college
didn't even know Bryan

Which is funny because I didn't know
myself either but I knew Grizzo

mainly because people expect certain
things and I keep my word

so when I told them I would jump
off the roof, they just stood around

drunk, but not as drunk as me,
No one expects to see Crazy in action

But at least once they do they never
forget the time you jumped off the roof

and hit the ground at 3 in the morning
so hard that your glasses flew off

and the only thing you broke
was your pride, or how you would

always answer everything with "**** it"
because if life ***** you might as well

get your nut too

Camel Crush Bold cigarettes in an ashtray
and Jameson on ice with a splash of water

These things can help the words on
late nights or lazy afternoons

Sometimes the best lunch is
a tapped Porter or Stout on special

and putting down a few lines
on crumbled bar room napkins

This is his old habit, this is how
he needs to come out from time to
time

Grizzo isn't all ***** and giggles
though because as much as I want

to be tough, be a hard ***, always be right
I'm weak, I'm fragile, and so ******* wrong

about all the things you need to be right
about in life, but I'm turning 29 soon

and I think I'm finally starting to get

why the light needs darkness to shine
why love needs hate to thrive,
why Bryan needs Grizzo to write.

Lost
at sea
in the eye of the
Storm

The wind took
me here

pushes me further
away from
shore

away from
Home

I've sent birds
from the
deck
but none
have returned

and now I have
none left

The stars and the moon
are no match
for the clouds,

no silver lines
slice through
on this night

Only mouthfuls
of salt water
and the stink
of dead fish

swept onboard
by wave
after wave
of rouges

The crew wash
overboard while
repairing, raising
the ripped sails,

some swept away
taken by the darkest
blades, and some
cling to what they can

They beg for
relief, seeking a

break,

but I can't control
much, much
less the weather

and I wish they
weren't here because
this ship is going
down

eventually,

and I know my fate
lays at the bottom
of some yet

uncharted waters
and as captain
I have a duty to

stay with
my ship
and save
my crew but,

they stay
with me because
they always have,

always will,
after all,

That's what friends are for

to guide your ship,
repair her sails,
help you find
the way home

while the storm rages,
the winds never
stop,

maybe the birds knew
the journey was a failure
from the start,

and once released
they found a nest like
they should've had all along

and in that
I can't blame them,

I'm still looking
for my Home too,

on a ship of friends
with my broken heart
rudder pushing
forth,

but in a heading
unknown.

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

Family quarrels are bitter things. They don't go according to any rules. They're not like aches or wounds, they're more like splits in the skin that won't heal because there's not enough material.
F. Scott Fitzgerald

---

I keep you in a book,
Tucked away in the top drawer
of my night stand
I flip through
from time to time
when I can't sleep
when I can't read
when the words don't come
as quickly as the morning does

You're a grain of rice.
Now you have a face.
A hospital bracelet
Boy, 7/27/2011, 10:15am
Folded up in a plastic sleeve
You're dressed like Santa
For your first Christmas

We have the same smile

In this one I'm leaning forward
and your arms and legs
dangle in the air
We were at the park
You loved the flowers and bushes,
the butterflies and birds that
scattered as I pushed you along
The path

The book isn't full,
A plaid patterned
sticky note
shaped like a heart reads
"More to come soon."

Night after night,
book after book,
Crumpled page after crumpled page,

the morning comes.

Love, I have no easy answers for you.
I’ve run out of excuses,
offer no

more apologies, and
I haven’t seen a single
shooting star in months.

I call you love because you were,
because you are,

because,
right now,
to me,
you always will be.

I’m a good man
in a cruel world

that grabs my shoulders
and shakes the hell out of me.

My golden heart shudders
against my chest,
grinding ill-greased gears
of resolve,
lugging the rhythmic consistency
of determination

The world shakes me, spitting,
“You petty fool. What kind
of a man
are you really?”

Love, I have no easy answers for you
because there are some moments

of loneliness on Saturday nights,

moments in life that make my heart beat
like pyrite,

trading soft kisses with neon lights
and shot specials, crawling
into the early hours of the morning

looking for happiness everywhere,
like it’s a forgotten jacket
slumped over a bar stool.

Finding you
in everyone’s
eyes.

These nights,
never change,

the world shakes
and spits.

Remember the night at the lake?

We laid on the hood of my car, we counted
stars like baseball cards,
bottle caps, like the days left
until summer camp.

It was on that night
that I first called you
Love to every meteor we saw.

because
you were.

There are only hard
decisions Love,
but you already know.

Consequences of mistakes,
your impulses fed
mine.

I’m a good man in a cruel world,
my golden heart dims neon,
remembers meteor showers
and childish adoration.
The world shakes
and spits
but my heart
isn’t pyrite.

Crawling from one
shot to the next
I still see you
everywhere.

Love, I have no
easy answers for you.
I’ve run out of excuses,
offer no

more apologies, and
I haven’t seen
a single
shooting star
in months.

Hear my words, let them steep into your soul,
Unlock the door, serve them your finest wine
Life is full of strange beauty, this I know

The demon will come, but you will be fine
The angel will come, just never on time
Unlock the door, serve them your finest wine

Life is the time, and living is the crime,
and the beauty in living is simple.
The angel will come, just never on time,

her wicked wings will scare off the sickle,
Simply living is beautiful itself,
and the beauty in living is simple,

easy to do with good wine on the shelf,
I’m at a loss for a better adage,
Simply living is beautiful itself,

This is for those of you who wish to live,
Hear my words, let them steep into your soul
I’m at a loss for a better adage,
Life is full of strange beauty, this I know.

It's not really a long time
to some people,

In perspective,
the length of
the average life,

something like sixty,
seventy years

or in some cases
something like one
hundred and two
give or take a few

some poor *******
live into the hundred
and teens

How unfortunate,
How unlucky,
what sins must you commit
to be trapped here
that long

Living every day
waiting on death
like children wait
for the swing set

It's a long time
to me.

In my perspective
it's not three years,

it's not thirty-six months,

it's not one hundred
fifty-six weeks,

one thousand sixty-
eight days,

twenty-five thousand,
six hundred
thirty-two hours,

one million,
five hundred thirty-
seven thousand,
nine hundred-
twenty minutes.

In my perspective it's,
ninety-two million,
two hundred seventy-
five thousand,
two hundred seconds

of missing your first
steps,
not knowing your favorite
food,
not reading you Goodnight
Moon,
missing your Second,
Third,
Fourth birthdays,

not hearing
one hundred
twenty-six
million

heart beats.

It's pain that scares
the gods,

that demands
absolution,

and one day
when you read this

Know that I loved you.
Know that I missed you.
Know that once we find
each other again

I hope I'm a lucky *******,
sinless and pure,
that lives to see
one hundred
and twenty,
then we can share our perspectives
on three lost years

You are my
favorite,

the first

I could pick out,

among far off lights
in chaos.

You shone to me
in Strawn, Texas
when I was a child
with my grandfather
on his deer lease.

You were the last
I saw before bed,

You were still there
when we woke
in the early morning.

You are a hunter too,
your bow pointed forth,
and sword
hung low,
like the gods
used the stars
to sketch something
inappropriate,
like the sky was their science
journal from
middle school.

You followed me
like the bear.

I saw you
on Fall nights
in college,
on my back
in my backyard
with burnt ash
on my T-shirt,
through an
unfocused
tequila telescope.

But now, in this city,
I don't see you
as often, or maybe
I've seen you the wrong
way all along.

Maybe like we see the world
from the floor down,
we see you hunting the bear
when in mirrored reality, you run
from the beast

and I can't blame you
because we all
do,

or maybe
you're not even there
anymore,
we just don't know it
yet, because as fast as things
change, like
youth,
seasons,
perceptions,

Maybe you've burnt out,

Maybe the bear caught you
swallowed you whole
into his black-

stomach.

Maybe I should
start running
so he doesn't
catch me too.

I walked out to my car this morning,
and it started right up

My hair, still wet from the shower
is still full and covering my head

I've got new framed pictures to hang,
and clean sheets on the bed

Work was alright, I guess, I don't
hate my job but I hate the idea

that we work for old paper to trade
for bright shiny things that always
seem to lose their glimmer

I've finally got a good woman
in my life who whispers to my heart
and knows what to say to chase
away the dark.

Every kiss on my cheek, every bite
of dinner, every time I feel alone
I reach over and take her hand in mine
and know that the day needs the night.

I have love, health, a paycheck, and the
freedom to drive until the tank is empty

True, there are still things that I want,
but don't need, and things I need

that were taken from me, like my son,
his first words and his first stumblings
in this world

But every day passed is another conquered,
another reason to keep moving
forward

When you've seen as many sunsets and
broken hearts as I have
You are used to the fact that
the sun returns,
love is real,
and life is beautiful.
even on the old, *****
rainy days.

One day, I know
that he will ask
questions,

Children have a way
of noticing things
that are there,

seeing shapes
and shadows
that aren't,

A special talent for noticing
missing things and finding
words to help them understand
what shadows mean
and how the sun shines.

Some children grow up
and ask where the sun
goes when the shadows

grow,

I know

that the silver
lining is a cliché,
but I keep looking at the clouds
expecting a miracle,

but the rain brings
no relief,

only pelts me with reason
after reason to keep writing
to you, even though you'll
never read these words,

I know one day

he will.

The sun always shines,
somewhere,
even on the cloudiest
nights, silver lines slice
through in patches,

and all the shapes
and shadows tell
me that.

I always start
the first draft
on my cell phone,

Poetry flows out
of my thumbs,

Blood pumps
through veins,
as letters
become words,
words become
brok-
en lines
and these lines become,
a piece of me, a piece of
you in ways

Soul whispers
flow
from my heart to
brain,

Memories become lines

both broken
and complete,

stream down my spine

circulate down to my
toes,
back up to my heart
and into
yours.

Alarm
goes off,
cup of coffee

Cigarette,
back porch,
before fighting traffic,

Work,
Work, Work
9:30 to 6:30

Dinner,
watch movies
or write poetry

Seems fulfilling enough
I can't complain