Closer now to endless nights,
As voices, muffled
Like a seashell to my ear
Telling me to let go, in rhythmic harmony,

I fight for words or a groan; a cringe would do,
A silent and dark world has encapsulated me,
My memories will soon evaporate,
A collection for eighty years,

He has no choice but to pound her back,
to get her to let go of my arm as she bites down hard.
She says she hates me because I pulled her hair when she was a child,
I am a vicious man who lacks control over my anger.
I don’t disagree with her memories, but she adds more than I can remember,
In the moment, I can have blind rage and not remember a few minutes before.
She thinks I hate her, but I don’t. How can I convince her otherwise now?
I am no longer Father. Dad. Pops. I am my first name.
I see the wall that I created whenever I try to talk with her,
Not made of wood, but concrete. It’s made of a Roman mixture that will last for thousands of years.
My wife says, “Give it time”, but time doesn’t erode this wall.

It starts with an anonymous thought
The voice in my head that screams lies
It sounds like me, but in a higher register
Repeating phrases that will not stop
Competing with the high pitch ringing

I open my mouth to exhale and allow it to escape
And close it quickly, preventing reentry
I stand at a distance and observe the voice
As it is reborn into another monster,
Each time a manifestation of the last

To slay the monster only allows a metamorphosis
The thing grows larger and more powerful with more words
Words like vinegar and baking soda
I know when it will quiet down
But I’m not ready to die

He’s taken at the end of spring, alone in
White sheets that are wrinkled and soiled.
Never to smell the bleach and rubbing alcohol
The ambient sounds of the ICU floor, with
Ringing, buzzing, beeping, and ethereal voices.
Eternal peace, they say when he is given last rites
He can hear what they are saying, but it’s still a dream
Wake up and rise like Lazarus
But the voices are farther away, and the light is dim
He doesn’t have the strength to play jacks as the
Voice urges him to come out and play.
Flashes like lightning and muffled tin can, ringing like
The bells at mass before the taking of the Eucharist.
It’s time to wake out of this dream
He has things to finish. To start. To do.
Pinching himself doesn’t work like it used to.
Rolling and screaming. Nothing.
The tin bells turn to cow bells that turn to Jingle Bells
The movie of his life plays faster and faster
Eighty-five years of home movies
The curtain closes as he says,
This must be eternal peace, as the voices say
Fade to black

It starts with an anonymous thought
The voice in my head that screams lies
It sounds like me, but in a higher register
Repeating phrases that will not stop
Competing with the high pitch ringing

I open my mouth to exhale and allow it to escape
And close it quickly, preventing reentry
I stand at a distance and observe the voice
As it is reborn into another monster,
Each time a manifestation of the last

To slay the monster only allows a metamorphosis
The thing grows larger and more powerful with more words
Words like vinegar and baking soda
I know when it will quiet down
But I’m not ready to die yet

They say; but who are they, that say,
That cloth is my armor
It shields me from the unknown and unknowing
It hides my nose and mouth but doesn’t hide my shame
I am unrecognizable, unnatural, and anonymous
I lose my unwillingness to protest my anonymity on the ignorant
I have waited a thousand lifetimes to hide in the open
To see and not be seen
To breathe the stale air of my breath
And exhale the poisonous gas that would otherwise be words
Lost are those with false entitlements seeking to resurrect past ailments
Pity me and madness, they say
They are to whip up a storm; a gale
Phones at the ready, for another star, will explode
A supernova at the entrance of Walmart
They dim before the Sunsets
They turn into a Black Hole and Donut Holes then,
*** holes.

The dimly black craggy door
That hides bottomless secrets
Opens and closes with hollow cruelty
And is silent as the moon

So difficult it is to knock and let myself in
Pushing is useless, like pulling the trigger with the safety on
I have dreams of passing the threshold
And scream “Echo” in that empty room

Hearing nothing in return
This is where I awaken, a dream in a dream
All the lies I’ve seen and wear as my skin
A fabulous mask without eyes or a mouth

My house is painted a rainbow of monochrome
One door, Two windows, A chimney and a garden gnome.
It is where you will find me
Hidden away under the floorboards

Looking through the cracks of gleaming pine
Shaped like man
White satin sheets to comfort me
And a new suit

She came upon me with the weathered wings of a late winter nor’easter
Howling with screeching ecstasy and the anticipatory trance that follows
The piercing, splintering painful delights that reaches into my depths
Enigmatic eyes that judge my every motion
I drop my guard; flinging my shield of past tragedies to the barren ground
I’m caught in the sticky web of love
Wrestling halfheartedly attempting to convince myself I have fought the good fight
I hold on tight to anything within reach before the gales of temptation commence
I sense pain, delight, emptiness, belonging, blackness, and enchantment simultaneously

She holds the power of life and death in her grasps and won’t release her hold until I allow her to suffocate my heart

I don’t want your salvation
I just want your understanding
The streets I walk are empty now, filled with regret
The sky is overcast with despair, thundering its agony
I have no memory of our dreams anymore,
All flushed away in the remembrance sewer
I feel so alone
If you continue to embrace my state, you can expect to be disappointed
My expedition into the underworld is well trodden
If it helps, I’ve overcome this journey before
A whiff of jasmine and sandalwood has stirred me before
A bright autumn day or a brisk summer breeze
Has been known to pull me from my the subterranean vault
And yet I have always expected another return spree
Always anticipating and strangely joyful
That this will be the last trip
And I will finally find the peace and quiet
Of the vacuum of space

My memory vault harbors no treasure
From youth it’s where I store tragedy
A vacuum that ***** up heartbreak
A Black Hole where grief and pain cannot escape
Memories replay over and over
Death, disasters, accidents, and misplaced trust
And yet I’m sad when death wipes a vault clean
Where is happiness stored?
Something other than Christmas morning
But there it is; a happy thought.
I should dig deeper with a bulldozer instead of a trowel

It’s nearly half a month since the equinox
Drenched in the cold among the dead
Anticipatory of any color other than grey
The tree branches disfigured from winter
A lone squirrel zigzags to avoid the quiet killer
The pancake maker
The meandering bruin seeks to devour anything in its path
Leaving a wake of topsy-turvy blue wheeled bins
Spring is that alarm clock with the inviting snooze button
Where is the warmth that was promised?
Where is the rain that is dreaded?

New England’s ravenous ground is ready
For winters waiting cadavers
How long must they wait?
Spring is anticipated with its many preconceptions
It eases in and is hardly noticed
Warm days intermingle with the frigid
Until frost is an intolerable memory
Spring is manic depressive

I am free to sway from my precarious perch
Outstretch my wings of sullen words
And soak up the shadow light
Of another winter’s night

Morning is nigh and blanketed
By dawns lethargic cotton-bally sky
Melodic chirping and the droning on
Of another winter’s morning

The Sun’s warmth has yet to reach my hollow bones
Motionless and afraid
My indignation is not yet complete, reticent
Of another winter’s afternoon

And the light that once illuminated my soul
Has dimmed on this weary day and
I take flight as the red dusk promises the hope
Of another winter’s evening

Orphaned Souls falling like coal snowflakes
An overabundance in the heavens? Perhaps
I see them strung together to form wiggle-less worms
Eyeball floaters blocking ethereal visions
They bring phantom smells of lavender and patchouli
Then vanish as if aware of my presence
It’s but a dream

Today, one more was added to the soul heap as she left the body
Another bereaved soul
Why does this force me to breach my beliefs?
Am I not content to be a slave to my own ignorance?
It requires less work and I’m tired

Enlightenment requires a mind as vulnerable as the Universe
Free to fall from grace
And the confines of the caged soul
Each door that opens presents another that is locked
I fear I lack the strength to break open these barriers
But I so desire to catch the wafting souls drifting from dream to dream

Why must you wait for me
To rise above this endless fog
You wear the word martyr
like a bejeweled badge
Awaiting your ticket tape parade
I would gladly hide in my labyrinth
A careful construct of limitless emptiness
Illuminated by the new moon
I stumble through and through
Hoping for a quick exit over the cliff
But as usual, I’m sure footed

There is no room for you to wait
The fog is growing ever murkier
Although destitute of happiness
I can feel its presence forever in a memory
This is one thing that can be called hope
So there; some promising words to cling to
And know that I am not hopeless

What I see, I do not love
Imperfections thrive with limitless combinations
How can one view their reflection and fall in love?
It is my eyes that I see first
And I wonder what he’s thinking
Like the Sacred Heart of Jesus painting in my grandmother’s bedroom
I turn my head left and right
And his eyes follow me but this one is in judgment
I find imperfections in his face too
*** for tat
I know that I won’t share the same fate as Narcissus
I can turn away because I know his deficiencies and failures
So, he reminds me everyday
In that other world
In reverse
My twin reflection

I surely know you from another life or lifetime
There is something familiar about your circuitous smile
And the off centered eyes that needlessly roam the room
We share momentary glances as subdued as a whisper
Challenging each other for a longer glimpse
What a strange feeling in a nearly empty coffee shop
Sadly I remember
I remember your face
I remember your tears
I remember your hopes and fears
But I forget your name
That summer at Long Sands when I loved tennis
And you loved salt water taffy
We were thirteen, too young our parents said
Too young for love, but maybe in another forty years they joked
I remember the smell of the salt water taffy
I smell it now as the memories waft
Her name is on the tip of my tongue

Her tears, suspended from one cheek
Like liquid tassels
The other, immune
And dry as the dust bowl
There are two sides to every story
Yet this one is beyond two dimensions
Her explanations have layers upon layers
Like an ambiguous onion that begs to be undressed
And once exposed to the air, its bitterness once again
Provokes her tears
I do desire to ride down the rocky path
The one that steeply descends to the shore
Where anger will put to flight
And heap upon me, understanding
And a daughter's trust

What callow and dead words have you written?
Your sword is but a nub; a shadow of the weight it once held.
Deftly attuned to the foray of maladjusted thoughts
That seeks an ending but can stop at nothing
At one time, feelings were sharp and new and uncontaminated
Yet further on it is shaved down
An inner core as black as the raven’s eye
And when the nub has lost its reason to yield
Will it be retained for posterity?
Like the memories of the freshly dead
Your written words will decay into oblivion
Until a new soul is shaved sharp
Forever willing and ready and equivocal

At first, apathy, as one who wades through the gibberish
Then despair, as the wall grows taller and shadows of endless blackness
Stretching across a known landscape of misery
Built with mortar of ignorance and pride
Even you were amazed by its advance
By its ambience of nothingness
And how it is not persuaded by your rational mind
Not even your tapping finger is heard anymore
I’ve adorned it with webs of ivy-lies and pity-vines
And you have whitewashed yours
It takes a word and action to regain peace
Never to be spoken because of this impenetrable wall

It charms the blackness in my heart
Wading through the depths of the despair
Emerging for air then plunges deeper
It seeks out the weaknesses then clings like a cancer
Squeezing and squeezing
Rests then squeezes again
I’m convinced of my faults as I’m cross examined every minute
Because time is measured in pounds here
Autumn gives way to cooler winds but this
This is a season of endless clamminess and emotion
I’m reminded to bury this thing that I’ve created
It’s a construct of my making, as if I’m a God
And if I were God, I would end this reality and blanket it in blackness
Like my heart

Replicate
Castigate
Litigate

You tell lies
Then we vote
Still you win

We’re sullen
Ripped apart
Suspended

Tacit rage
Complacent
Acceptance

Regret
Having carved eroding chasms
A million miles deep,
Deep in my thoughts
To grasp with flailing talons
What might have been.

Had I crafted eloquent words or
Shone a brief interest and
Not toppled that deceptive pedestal
There might have been
What might have been?
Regret

This stage of life
Does not allow for reiteration
Only regret
And with all that
We ponder
What might have been

My capricious mind
Where have you wandered today?
Who have you offended?
What retribution awaits?

I let you out to absorb the Sun’s rays
And you amble off to seek shade
Your stubbornness has no limits
As you fail to return at the appointed time

My unsympathetic mind
Why have you turned your back on your friends?
Do they not attend to your ego?
Like flies on carrion, their interest is symbiotic

This morning I had a premonition
It was perplexing and brought consternation
There was a rabbit that crossed my path
So many bad things happen to rabbits

Every morning at the same time
Get up and do your business
Business can be business or a combination of one and two
It involves paperwork and need not be in triplets
Try not to push too hard, lest you become: Stressed
Smell the coffee brewing as it lingers like gym sweat
Read the rags as they’re piled high. You really need to discard the old.
Did you remember to wash your hands and disavow
The pipes clang and rattle as the tap is closed
It reminds you of the 2009 Earthquakes that brought utter destruction to your life
Furloughs, pay cuts, layoffs, and lost dreams
How times have changed in seven short years
Every morning at the same time
Same **** different days

Cleft chin and sullen eyes
Scour the grey, lifeless sky
For signs of the retreating moon,
And the after-glow of her vanishing soul

Must I wait another day or night?
With expectations of another revival
The rise and fall of her ephemeral spirit
It slashes and flays before it slumbers; restless and tortured

I watch with enigmatic wonderment
How do I accept the wounds, bound with salt and sea-foam?
The passion of deep red fluid that runs through our veins
That spring like geysers from a gentle touch

We wake to the moon glow and dispelled dreams
Gaze upon the ceiling in the dark
And from it, all moving things appear and disappear
“Particles”, I exclaim!

Upon a path that is no more
A way, a way, deep in memory
The natural parting like hair on a newborn
Having a beginning and an end
Pause, as you look upon the path
That is no more or will ever be
And the wind will whisper in your ear to remind
That this path belonged to another
Yours is there
Along the fence that borders the meadow

Reverberations from prior years
Appear and disappear then appear again
Long lost tirades find their way back to life
To wound once more with vigor and ferocity

Grammar is your shield and without it; a wasteland
Without that perfect period or comma or semi-colon
It confuses the unspoiled linear thinker
Out comes their sword to slay

I have grown tired of kittens, slayings, and Trump
Rest the fingers and close the lid
There will be a savory morsel in the morning to LIKE
Stop measuring your life by the friend count

Facebook is another reality
That stalks the innocent
And convinces the sluggish of its lies
It must be true if it’s on the Internet

Her solemn eyes shares the work of a torn heart
She gazes into a darkened abyss she calls her melancholia
A place, cold and familiar, like a bedroom closet
It is neither open nor closed; the home of dim secrets

She feels and feels and feels until numb
Detached is far better, oh sister of her apathy
Where is the strength to rise?
To harvest again the morning sun

It takes all her power as she clings
She fights to remember that once she was happy
A gleaner of laughter and hope
She is worthy of a second chance

Bend and twisted beyond recognition but hardly broken
A resilient soul that weathers the eastern storms
You are the seeker of inspirational thought
Finding pieces discarded by the hopeless and helpless
A discoverer of minuscule wisdom, you make it yours
And you share its obscure meaning and summon the light
For many years, the numerous have seen you a far off
Like perched eagles, they seek the opportunistic ****
As they strive to entangle and captivate your soul
You will suffer with the endless disappointments
One day, you prefer death to the infinite fight
And when all is lost, you find the passage that will
Lift you from hell into heaven and restart the cycle

I strove to cease its protracted motion
Rousing early and then to bed, gleaning thought
Consuming every earthly moment
Keeping every reminiscence in irksome detail

The passage of time is my enemy and savior
Yet I revel at nature and its indiscriminate design
And how the phases of the moon does not deter and
Times movement does not slow for the bees or the hummingbird

For the sands of the shore, time is eternal and uneventful
For the youth, time is measured by the day and year
For me, time is measured by the second, hour, day and year
For the Mayfly, time is a day

I cannot effect its movement or demeanor
Yet it affects mine
The unmovable wall
That desolate and weeping journey's end

And so begins a Sunday morning
The radiant yellow orb making pathways
Through the clustered oaks and pines
And shadowy amorphous forms race
From field to field and far beyond
Avian hordes arrive as if by magic
To populate and preen
This is a cathedral built by no man
Where only the utterance of wind
And light of equality
Express a greater truth
Than that found in a shuttered building
Where minds are closed and unfamiliar
And formality is lifted among them like a golden calf

I am what I am, or who I want to be
Sewn from the ethereal playground
I am what I am, and just pretending
Thrown from heaven to seep in earthly goo
I am what I am, lifeless and full of ambiguity
Favored in childhood by no one
I am what I am, leftovers again
Wishing to enter the otherworldly mind again
I am what I am, and will be evermore

A place - innocuous from the outside
Where resides, pestilence and ambiguity
A maze of vacillation where names are forgotten
In this place, the harbinger of unrequited dreams dwell

He is the maker of disillusion but also a friend
He never wishes to escape; I bind him with the disingenuous power of righteousness
When he is set loose, it’s with malice and slaughter
Vulgarity is his weapon, which he uses indiscriminately

As quickly as he is summoned and let loose
He returns to his domicile, weary
I fear this demon more than death
The relationships that it has overwhelmed
Too many to mention; too few remembered

Control is never mastered where flawed reasoning endures
Society asks to cage our demons
Confine it and marginalize its power
How can I when it’s who I am?

Your path is well worn
Like the old Indian trails still visible in winter
Your life has left a wake of possibilities
Its ripples, forever spreading – wide, firm, unencumbered, vast
To think of autumn and feel the evening chill for
You are embedded in my every thought
Anger, love, discontent, beauty, helplessness, ecstasy
I am ready to find my cliff edge
To spread my arms and leap
Knowing the perfection of gravity and its consequences
I fear that our entanglement has been broken
Magnets, repelling with the same polarity

Her entrance, like viscous molten lava;
Has that effect
Careless words torch a path that is easy to chart;
That can affect

Approach her from the east
Straight on
But at your risk
The lioness’s heart is not always numb

Her back is always turned to the gentle wind
Away from her peril
She will not shudder to your casual cry
Her indifference

You take more than what you're due
Replacing joy with tears
Compelled to a destiny you thought was yours
Will you ever get it right?
He is a lonely, ****** soul
Delegating his passion from one to another
A back office Romeo
Roll it over and accept your penalties
Replace the tears with self-determination
Toss it all away
Cast it in the fire
Lob it in his face

How many good memories have I destroyed?
Each one, a treasure to another
A string of pearls
And like the portrait of two lovers
I chose to bow out
In remembrance, I have ruined many lives
A kindly soul allowing me to merge
But I was never fully integrated
Always looking to egress at the slightest transgression
I fear I have doomed many an honest spirit
To think hard of me and my character
It would have been better if they had never set eyes upon me
And continued on their journey, unencumbered
Never knowing the name of this lost nomad

A memory not your own is a lie with legs
A story perpetrated by the soul
For its own amusement
It thrashes like a fish on a line
Seeking to breathe life with every gulp
And as time continues on its incessant journey
This memory finds a home
In the permanence of a weak mind
It becomes your truth
And the lie loses its legs

Change is a truth that has many meanings
Many paths that divert and transform
From good to bad
Bad to good
To mediocrity and back again
Change has brought me full circle
Like the seasons
Continually in flux
Aroused by love
Or a word
Or a purpose
Or the realization that I must change
For the sake of change

Life has provided me with circles
Infinite paths that lead to endless crossroads
A maze of possibilities etched in clay
And defined by a tormented soul
I am one that has fallen into hell
Sometimes I wake to music
A familiar tune that echoes from childhood
When rainbows were good omens
And the night passed unimpeded
Now I pray for that endless sleep
Where the night is infinite
And the soul is nullified

A syncopated moment
Drifting, suspended, and finally, evaporated
The moment before the ecstasy
Never completely fulfilling that obligation
But enough to defer for a later time
Yet knowing there will never be another time
Why is it that leaving is always a cold and foggy moment?
Confusing thoughts of euphoria and dismay
All in the singularity of a syncopated moment

Slow and deliberate are the days
Everything new and elastic and hopeful,
I told myself - to remember these insights
Save them for the middle years and reminisce
Use them but don’t abuse
The memories will serve me well
But are forgotten the next moment
As the smell of fresh cut grass distracts me
An opportunity lost will be found in due time
I say to my youthful self
But now past fifty
All is but a vacant dream or shadowy memory
As I struggle to remember the smell of fresh cut grass
This has been a long, cold winter
And spring feels like years away

Perceptions of the man I am
An amorphous facade that blinks in and out of existence
That counts its lifespan with every beat of my heart
There is no permanence or longevity
Because that is what I choose
And what I choose is fleeting
Like a first love or a wispy cloud
I cannot define the man
Or claim to know my own intentions
Because they are fluid and unwieldy
And harken me to a time when darkness ruled
And light was a concept without meaning
Or validity, or attainability

Of naked thoughts, unbridled and free
Scattered to the wind, a dearth of harmony
A rip-tide of bellowed speech and angst
Ready to pull apart this ragged seam
And erupt into a festering wound
Divided are two houses with splintered factions
Erases with ease, that which is sacred  
Even to the ungodly
What hatred and guile exists
That they cut off their own heads while declaring victory
A foreshadowing of the times to come
Must we burn down our own house?
And rid ourselves of the most defiant.
Or seek to persevere and gain back dignity
And harmony and charity and peace

You seek a crown of gold
And yet the heart is fallow
A famine of the soul
Unbeknownst and unconcerned
The poor hunger for food and shelter
And you have an appetite that’s never satiated
The many feasts of endless delicacies and wealth
Has not spoiled your cravings
Yet they who are lacking in all that is tangible to you
Have something you lack and cannot acquire
They give to others that have less than them
And feel their anguish
And revel in their friendship
Their crown is empathy

Winter nomads
Reclined in a Maytag box
One after another, like Legos
Discarded “Hungry, Please Help” signs
Defines this squalor
Young or old, it shows no discriminating
Countless families, countless vets, countless children
Are lost to this
I am afraid to stare on their plight
Afraid of self-fulfilled prophecy

Rise above persuasive fear
And tempt that, which is fleeting
You; Amiable and true
Have a voice, strong with fluent motion
Attest to your bold inheritance,
And seek a greener meadow
Pure and of sound understanding
And brave through life and solemn respite
Your crucial test is a lifespan of challenges
So gather your reaping’s and halt your desire,
To look back on the past and venture ever forward
Where light emanates and darkness has no grip

The oak tree revisited
It’s been twenty eight years since I visited the oak
Still majestic in the over growth
Towering above its brothers
Hours spent gazing in your eyes
Arms out stretched, calling me to your *****
The last time was after she left
And I thought of dying at your feet
But you gave me hope, old oak
Ageless in your foundation
And my many woes have you endured
I call you friend, ancient oak

There I stood, cobbled together of flesh and blood
Raptured only minutes earlier, now in despair
Words that take seconds to think and speak
Cause years of pain and destruction
Accept that I am not without blame
But why are words not meant,
And not easily retractable,
Incapable of evaporation
Like a broken man’s tears

Ragged stone cliffs frame a wanting sea
The podium of black moods
Grounds of final thoughts
The twenty second swan dive
There are easier ways
I’ve been falling for fifty years
And the bottom seems no closer
I can slow the descent with outstretched arms
A type of crucifixion without the nails and sin
You have no idea what goes through a mind in free fall
There is no reminiscence, only now
And still I hear it said that there’s someone in a darker place
I know; I passed her on the way down