I put the boy to bed
and sat reflecting
for a few minutes
about my blessed
offspring.
His face lit up
tonight
when I told him
that he was Grammas's favorite.
He is everybody's favorite.
My gift.
My salvation.
I looked up the story of Abraham
again,
and much like grade school,
I thought
**** That.
I listened to the new Trent Reznor project,
not bad.
I think of my
little brother whenever I see Trent's name.
I took him
to his first concert ever,
Nine Inch Nails.
Kicked ***.
I thought about my ******, ******* little bro.
I'm going to have to beat his ***, just ***.
I fired up a joint
as I put my
massive
music collection
on shuffle.
Genre: Electronic.
Shuffle: Puscifer.
I sifted through Craigslist
and saw an ad
for being a radio dj
for a grassroots
community based
nationwide
station
where you play whatever music you want
as long as it is not top 40 *******.
I could do that.
I could do lots.
Lots more than this, anyway.
Shuffle: Mike and Rich.
Buzzed.
I thought of my mother
and how
neither her nor I
are realizing our full potential creatively.
I called Mom
and we are
going to start going
to poetry readings.
She's gonna read my poems
and I'm gonna read hers.
It's a start.
We are cool like that.
We laugh lots.
Shuffle: Awolnation.
I'm pretty high by now.
Then I read another article on NPR about mix tapes.
I thought about you.
Again.
Still.
I thought about you
and
the mix tapes we
used to give each other.
Shuffle: Massive attack.
****.
Angel.
I put this song on at least five of your mixes.
Even the cover by Sepultura.
The great nothing sighs deep and cold within me.
I started to write a poem.
This poem.
This poem for you.
They are all for you.
I know when I write I purge,
and you just keep coming,
like a
viscous
black
lie covered
rope
being endlessly pulled
from my gaping broken skull.
Will I ever reach the end of you in me?
Shuffle: Lords of Acid.
I rolled another joint.
You used to hate it when I
would pick you up
and have
Show Me Your *****
blasting.
But then again, you didn't like anything I used to listen to.
You didn't like much about me, did you?
Just that one thing.
It's no wonder though, you ******* hipster.
Shuffle: Moby.
Jesus man how many songs does this guy have?
He's like the ******* Bob Ross of geeked out techno.
That must make aphex twin the evil mad genius.
I made it through shuffling without crying
but I can't listen to the mixtapes.
Cd's, really but who's counting?
You would.
You.
I cannot
wait until
you becomes
her
and then
her
becomes a breeze of a memory,
wisping across my cheek
almost indiscernible
and
leaving
only the faintest whispers
of amber and earth.
Soil.
Soil and Ancient root.
I can't listen to any of the great CD's baby.
My dearest.
My darkest.
My sickness.
My Love.
Beloved.
O, Fortuna, why?
Shuffle: Dragonette,Take it like a man.
Ha! Well played, shuffle. Good timing.
I will eventually.
Until then
I will continue to pull your oily tendrils from my open throat.
I will continue to try and forgive both of us.
Myself most of all.
I will continue to write.
I will pull you
out of me
and
flog my canvas
with your shadows.
*They are all for you, Dearest.