Fireworks thunder like
Stars long gone,
And I’d remembered
Something Grandpa once said –

“The world’s a wonder,
But home will always be
Home.”

And the fireworks still thunder,
But I’m the star long gone,
As I’d remembered
Something my son once said –

Innocent and earlier mirror’d,
His eyes were all that’d speak,
“Please.”

So now, I knock, atop the “thunder”
Calloused oak ‘fore, “father,”
As I discover, come echo’d only answer –

Whispers brought the cold, and the scent
Orchids wrought, “tell him to hurry;”
Once and an only gasp I’d hear too late.

Under starless and sincerity, he’s missing
The Sun.
He’s learned to lick. He’s learned to kick.
He’s learned and leaned a little left, *****,
If only to obsess, ‘neath the neon.

Congruent pools of ***** and an empty
Arm, or two,
He taste time’s tick, but a lick atop arm,
And though his tongue’s somewhere south,
If only, he obsesses over neon.

Sure, the doors never close nor the sky’d ever
Know blue,
And ‘morrow’d be back. ‘Morrow’d relent.
‘Morrow’d release, ‘morrow’d excuse –
Smiling, he’d ‘ever obsess,

So quelled the neon.

He bounced atop my stomach to
Drums
Reverberated concrete chasms.

He beamed a’brilliant with each and
Every
SMASHED! Cymbal, the thunder!

He’d only giggle ‘morrow
Now;
So passed the tears of procession.

I’d hold him tightly, he’d warm, he’d
Hug,
And know no bereavement today.

With eyes wandering left, darting
Right,
Both body and beloved pass by.

I envy him. I worship him, I was
Him
The day before I’d ever know death.

i'm drinking
out of
the bottle
on a tuesday
and i have
to ****
but i'm
glued to
this chair
and the keys
are glued
to my fingertips.
the room smells
like cheep wine
and fresh
duvets
i can't seem
to leave
but i always
find a way to

One, of the two chairs, thrones under
Chinese twilight’s a’swirl and vacuous
come my evening’s stroll. Where once
two men would tinker, tea, and tease
atop a’board of chess, only one remains,
and that one would ‘ever cry. Tears that
only grey’d make, fears that only age
could stake, and a pecking order with
number nigh. I knew, come wail and so
entered the fireworks, flowers atop
promenades near, that the last game of
chess was just the other night. The last
cup of tea was just the other night, and
the one left behind thought about the
“night,” as we all do. When’s mine a
coming? When’s mine a’coming? Just
when is my night a’coming? So that I
may see you again, dear friend, let me
see you again.

My aunt’s in the garden,
     Growing gold.
My uncle’s in his new shirt,
     Growing mold.
My cuz’s in Af-ghan-i-stan,
     Growing cold.
I’m swimming in wine,
     Growing old.

This piece should make sense,
     But it don’t.
This piece should tell tales,
     Still, it won’t.
I’m home decades later,
     Or so I wrote.
My daddy’s days dead
     And so I’ll tote.

The last sip of bourbon;
And I miss my horse.

The last sip of bourbon;
And I stick to pine sap.

The last sip of bourbon;
And I change the channel.

The last sip of bourbon;
And I ask when she sleeps.

The last sip of bourbon;
"The sooner, the better."

The last sip of bourbon;
And I accept the answer.

The last sip of bourbon;
And I'd once heard an hour.

The last sip of bourbon;
And let the ice dance.

The last sip of bourbon;
And every poem has its end.

Let it end.

‘Round the world and pieces of me,
So speaks one body come a –
A bad night’s blood spatter in Sioux City,
Lonely little toenail clippings swept Dubai,
Whiskey scented stubble, London nigh Paris,
Oh! The calloused skin round bend,
Wrought broken, my lovely Kyoto,
And maybe, just maybe,
A heart or five elsewhere.

So when the tooth-clerk barricaded
Dusty Chinese counter-top asked,
“Do you want to keep them?”
I responded and with haste, “yes;”
And with a thieves hand,
Snatched my two molars removed.
For I’d already left one too many
Pieces of me here, and though
It was only a tooth, I hadn’t much left.

I have a secret, something sour, and something
deep, deep, and deeper that I try to keep from you –
The fury that I can’t rid nor come “real,”
real me, the “he,” who stands not more than an
arms-length your side.

I may smile, wink, and speak of sunny days,
but there are the hours, sometimes,
where I can taste the, “vicious,”
the blood of both survival,
and all that’d threatened prior –
the “red” that flows from the past and
meanders “now,” the “red” of a
thousand yesterdays wrought dust,
wrangled bruise,
the “red” born in back-alleys
and buried in whiskey,
the “red” that never seems to rest.

This war-drum, I can feel It” climbing up
and crawling out through my nostrils
singing songs for –
Split teeth on split knuckles, breathing,
steady and suddenly, uphill,
the flare of the maddened bull,
an eye for only anger and beyond tether –
Destructive.

I dare not tell my newest friends that a part of
“Him” is still in “Me.”
He’s always “there,” hunting, haunting,
and will always be.
They’d surely run if they knew,
and I’d run too, if I could, but wouldn’t get far,
as he’d be running right there and with me;
Like the shadow always yearned for
and the same that’d scare come the movement not my own.

Went to the barber today,
          Just to feel a razor at my neck.
So to, skipped a crosswalk,
          Just to hear a horn.
I hopscotched the tracks,
          But the yard’s been empty years.
So then tried the bridge,
          When the wind’d never come.
Tomorrow’ll be lucky,
          That’s what I tell myself.

That’s what I tell myself.

Blood, Skin, Stalk and Stone
Proud men must die alone

Brass, Steel, Flesh and Bone
Brave men must die alone

Dust, Parchment, Ink and Tone
Wise men must die alone

Velvet, Gold, Crown and Throne
Rich men must die alone


Cold, Dark, Scared and Unknown
Drifting, Spinning, Circling and Prone
Empty for eons, Ego's Overgrown
Mankind must die alone