The words turned into binary
A random set of on and off signals for the computer to encrypt, send and decrypt
Then they traveled through the net,
Through the nearest server where it sent the words to where it needed to be

Then they showed up as the same words on the other end.
It is there for the world to see.
For the world to judge,
For the world to see who I really am.

I can remove it anytime I wanted to,
But I wanted to know what the world would think.
The world could be amazed.
The world could be insulted.

So I waited and waited,
The minutes turned into hours.
So I gave up and went to sleep.
When I woke, there was disappointment in my head.

There was nothing.
No reaction, good or bad.
I poured my soul into the words on the screen.
The words that defined who I am, who I was, and who I want to be.

The ignorance gave me a new feeling.
No one had taken interest in me.
My life was defined by ignorance
And maybe, ignorance wasn't bliss.

useless, this skyward nightblind stare
was it there, from lost flecks of  stardust
that God wrought
this species of heroes and heathens?
these eyes don't see much anymore

I've tired of my own sophic nonsense,
pretenses ****** to any screed that might buy words
to publish under slews of anonymous names...
real life is not vague
we chew it, hard crusty bread

before dinner, my own fingers rummaged deep
planted within loose root shards, chewed chicken thighs, other things
we've eaten,
ever since days as young children...

Our Father consumed simply

like a banged and dented '57 Chevy
adorned pretty with loose bananas and oranges
freed from paper cartons,
his rusty wrenches tucked in my toolbox
built solid, still colorful, if not as useful anymore;
a ***-stained carpet too good to throw away
left to rot in the driveway; I called a tow to haul it all
yesterday

Oh my Brother...

when it rains
I drown in his rolling wheelchair
and rubber-tipped canes, set out plastic buckets

... and I think to drink them in...

the stories of glory or warning,
conquests and war,
apple pies left to cool on a sill
awaiting harvest by the bravest soldier

today:
gifts of old shot glasses saved in the cellar
(I drink from the bottle)
a box of fine cedar from the back of the closet
(though odor not telling, for a decade at best)
more stories...

but still
we're both grown men now, and safer for past efforts,
the lawn neatly mowed if not always ****-free.

does it matter?
winter's soon coming.
what could it save me?

it's a cold wind -
in time enough, some men
newly minted, will gaze inward - outward, too
search for food left in the pantry
the paltry stocks I put up:
canned spaghetti, dollar store crackers, salty powdered soup mixes...

they'll wonder whether a father ever listened
cared enough to spout useful advice...
weigh one heathen,
the *** who wrote poems only for himself