I.
You always knew
the lies I've taught myself to believe
would never be good enough for him

We have the same smile
he is the last angel that can save
me

Love, I have no easy answers for you
I bury questions with every poem
but there is never enough dirt.

The ugliness behind our
pretty faces

burns holes
in the soul

and that's the first poem
I wrote about you that
wish I could burn
because I see myself
in your eyes and I wish
I could disappear from
the mirror

I don't
hate you.

I can't.

I
won't.

II.
my sweet Ollie,

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

Have you discovered
children have a way
of noticing things
that are there,

seeing shapes
and shadows
that aren't?

There are monsters in the dark
but do not be afraid
I am there too.

I thought I
past the would,
could, should be

but there are no stars
in the sky and these
gnarled branches
won't give me release

and the future is the same as it always was

some things
cannot be hidden
cannot be undone
cannot be found
cannot be repaired

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

whisper them into your ear
so that with every heart beat
you have an answer for why we're
here

and one day
when you read this

know that I loved you
know that I missed you

There is still sunshine longing
to kiss your forehead

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

My son, trust me
when I tell you,
there is nothing to fear
in the dark.

Fear the Heart.

BG-4/11/17

The sun sinks behind your hips,
the moon rises around your shoulder, up
your collar,
through your lips

Glass lights, red star glow
Could this be Purgatory?
All the bars are closed.

the radio is
broken again
and this time
is the last time

Your songs no longer
fight the static.

the crunchy hiss
the empty stutter
between pops

crackling cackles,
unplugged from the wall
still playing the song
of something ending
into a new beginning

Your songs no longer
fight the static

but I still hum
them to myself

at the edge
of our universe

BG-4/8/17

Peace,
Quiet,
Love,

these abstract things that guide
us through our lives,

We all want them in one way
or another,

A steady paycheck,
A backyard,
A soul mate,

those concrete things that justify
our suffering & strife,

We all want them in one way
or another,

We think

Maybe Love will carry us away,
Maybe it will answer our questions,
Maybe happiness is the root of Love

So we keep digging
and we find something different

Or maybe we keep digging
and we never stop

and fool ourselves into thinking
the fruit is the labor, and this is
"What we gotta do"

or we never find what we want

or we find what we need and say
"Whatever."

And then we **** all the happiness
we can from what's found
and we bury it deeper, leaving
what's left for someone else

Meanwhile, the world turns
full of war,
full of noise,
Alone because there's
nothing like it for
millions and millions
of miles

But that's not me,
That's not "Us",

Whatever.

If my tongue were a pen
every word would be a postmarked
love letter to your ears.

If my tongue were a pen
my words wouldn’t have
cut so deeply and left you
with coupons you’ll never

use and bills that are past
due.

The page is my playground.

My Church.
My Sanctuary.
My Womb,

Our eyes are doorways to
the secrets that make us
who we are

This dark haired face with three
day scruff and glasses is a
single sentence out of context,

and our chapter isn’t finished.

I am fishing on a lake
at five years old.
passing my driving test,
graduating high school,

I am both an old soul
who
lived too much
too young,
and a child reaching
for candles
in the darkness.

If my tongue were a pen,
my darling,

my soul
would slide its fingers
through your eyeballs

and bury itself in
the deepest recesses
of your heart

If my tongue were a pen
instead of picking up all the
bad memories of this apartment
with piles of ***** clothes,

you would
find the words and phrases
we phased out of our lives for a forgotten
reason at the end
of an empty bottle night.

I am moving to a new city at 25,
becoming a Father.
Invisible to my child.
A Stranger.

I am meeting you for the first time,
we are children holding hands
in the darkness
We were children jumping from
swings,
We were the children
who knew just enough

We told each other all our secrets
We shut doors
We blew out candles

if my tongue were a pen
My darling,

it would tell you
we are not a mistake.

we are a
collection
of unfortunate
accidents
that became
something
beautiful.

Turn the Page.

BG-4/10/17

the chill of winter winds left with the Spring, I still feel the gusts in my bones,
I see our ghosts trapped in the trees

This forest is never blessed with the stars, The Darkness is the only thing complete, The Moon shivers, consumed by clouds

I strike black stones, but can't get them to bleed,
Your fading ghosts whisper, "Come back to me."

BG-4/9/17

My color a cliche
    Once new
        Once blue
over aNd over

If you held a gun to my head
and pressed the barrel into
the small indention I've had
since I was a child
and asked for a story
I'd give you a poem
and ask that you'd just
give me
one more
line

Cigarettes,
Alcohol,
Heart attacks,
Car crashes,
Knife fights
are all exciting
ways to die.

Knowing,
at least
it spirits the mystery
away.

Seven hundred ninety four miles.
Twelve hours twenty three minutes.

I would’ve said something.
I should've said anything,

but her bags were packed.

Her boxes stacked
in the back seat.

I could only ask,
“When?”

and she told me
“Tomorrow.”

That night she placed my hand
on her stomach

and I felt you kick
for the first time.