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

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.

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

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.

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

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

Knowing,
at least
it spirits the mystery
away.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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