My Zebco 33 is part of my family
you see , on many a troubled day this
precision piece of machinery has helped
to foster great clarity , encouraged playful
lakeside banter , put many a panfish or two
in the creel as well
This old reel has ne'er skipped a beat in
thirty plus years , a faithful friend , riverbank
companion , an American workhorse in the blue
collar tradition , the 'go to friend' of a grateful fisherman* ...

She doesn't have to be your mother
For you to not call her a ***** for not doing what you want.
She doesn't have to be your sister
For you to not call her a ***** for having *** even once.
She doesn't have to be your daughter
For you to expect boys to respect her as a person.
"What if she was your mother/daughter/sister?"
Shouldn't be a valid question.
It shouldn't be a question that makes you stop and think,
"That's true, I need to treat women like I'd treat my female family members."
As though it's given you the epiphany
That even women you don't know are entitled to decency.
And if that question is what made you change your ways,
Get rid of the notion that women can only be treated to
The same amount of basic respect as men
If you can imagine your mother's/sister's/daughter's face staring back.

the tisk to me tasket
the rim of me basket
the jist of me last kiss
once the brim of me full glass
the trim saturday
the wake up next to everyday
now me memory
not a sad thing
just life, anyway

Misery is the cruellest friend
She climbs into bed with you and clings to you
Loyal to a fault she doesn't leave your side,
You will feel her cold fingers down your cheeks,
So rough and calloused they leave tracks in their wake.

Misery is Selfish
She hisses when people get too close to you
Too blind to see that her protection causes loneliness
Misery is angry
Crescent indents always appear on your palm
She doesn't mean to hurt you though, she just needs a distraction
Misery is hurt
She cries all the time,
Sometimes she screams.
You attempt to stitch the wound but can't find the tear,
There is no bone to straighten
No graze to bandage
Not even a bruise to sooth.

She's your best friend,
The only one you need in your life
So you hold her hand
Feel her jagged and uneven nails
And walk with her.

Autumn,
a coffin closing.

Winter,
a coffin buried.

Spring
violets on a grave.

Summer,
the season of amnesia...

when we forget
all other seasons
and begin again
because we must.

By Arcassin Burnham

The sober thought of feeling something again
In circling around your mind like the sand in an
Hour glass,
Watching the seasons pass and not maintaining
The erge to even count the days when you were
Normal facing the end of a flask
Give me another dose,
A dose of what is real and what vacant,
Looking for a soul thats been lost for decade and still comes from
A broke family with no type of investment plan to better futures,
Be careful what banks you trust,
It was simple enough to me that things I have been taught were always
Inconsistent lingering the real facts and leaving me in a state of confusion,
Not to say I'm dumb, but I question it sometimes,
Mom's not giving a **** and you think that will reflect on my kids?!
You're sadly mistaken, taking everything that my family does to me
And never punish my own with it,
Never choosing favorites while multitasking it,
There won't ever be a dull moment, not for a second....

some peeled off, and married
many died in car wrecks
battle took some
one just outside the front door, laying there all night
one of blood disease at eleven
one given the wrong injection
one playing Russian roulette
more than one injected their own deadly cocktail
at least two from heart attacks
others dropping dead from brain explosions
cancer has taken quite a few
suicide has overtaken more than I care to count
some old age caught up with them
Friends all dead. RIP.