I found you, in a stack of photos:
the 2D you, I can't touch, taste or smell

the first thing that came to mind was sharing a joint with you and spilling the chocolate ice cream cone on your skin-******* shorts

and sneaking into the Woolworth bathroom, and our freaked frenzied scrubbing of fabric with nimble fingers and pink powdered hand soap

and how we couldn't stop laughing
until a woman older than time caught us
before we could consummate

which we did after running the entire
200 yards to my van, wet white shorts in your hand, with me looking over my shoulder for imagined narcs and other freedom snatchers

when we finished, we shared my last Winston, blowing smoke rings in the gathering gloom

your shorts were dry, and our high
had worn off--you didn't kiss me goodbye when I dropped you off

between your pad and mine,
I hit a black mongrel pup wandering on the dark asphalt

I scooped him off the road
with my hands; lifeless, light he was...

I found you, in that stack of ancient
photos--that was the day we conceived a son, one you had shredded in a doctor's office for $300 in illegal tender

I see the messy ice cream, your naked nineteen year old flesh,  smoke rings disappearing, the poor mutt dying

though not for lack of trying, I can't see the child you had executed in utero--without trial, judge or jury, save an elusive dream
of freedom

Albuquerque, 1967

I fired one up on the loading dock
after eating lunch at the workplace cafeteria
I only smoke after a meal or when I'm contemplating death
and I may be contemplating death
because I just had lunch at the workplace cafeteria

my Mother would have a cigarette after dinner
and one before bed
that's probably where I got it
I got a lot of things from my Mother
and I lost a lot of things when she passed
much of my patience
along with a good chunk of character
I still don't cross the line
it's just gotten a bit further away

the memories of childhood have faded
like dates on old concert stubs
but the pain they both endured
in those last few years remains vivid
a stark reminder that life has balances
that illness does not discriminate
that bad decisions are unforgiving
I also believe that the after
holds balance as well
that someday
we will again be wrapped in the arms
of those we miss in life
and all shall be forgiven

Not the attraction a boy of ten
has for his peers
he was not even among
the intimate friends
yet a kind of lust I felt
when he was around
a flutter and denser breath
and in his absence
paling of all else.

That early seeding
was a hushed gust
blowing awhile in the ravine of
deep south.

Pretty girls emerged from the dust
and the first man in me
grew out of first love.

Tomorrow I take journey that no one should walk.

My falter are my own emotions.

I'm scared. Standing strong.

The word for what my Mother has I will not Utter.

Rubbing the head of Buddha.

How important is grammar when writing?  Is it a big deal or is it something that don't really matter?
Are you a grammar police officer?
As long as I can follow and understand what your saying then it's all good.
But I do want my poems and prose to be correct.  I want the reader to be able to understand and follow what I'm saying.

it came to me as I sat by the sea
"infinitely profound and immeasurable"
how it could take me into it's depths
now I have HP
it is a sea
and I can jump in
and join the others
who are like me
a part of the sea