My father is dead.
I who am look at him
who is not, as once he
went looking for me
in the woman who was.

There are pictures
of the two of them, no
need of a third, hand
in hand, hearts willing
to be one but not three.

What does it mean
life?  I am here I am
there.  Look!  Suddenly
the young tool in their hands
for hurting one another.

And the camera says:
Smile; there is no wound
time gives that is not bandaged
by time.  And so they do the
three of them at me who weep.

Dear parents,
I forgive you my life,
Begotten in a drab town,
The intention was good;
Passing the street now,
I see still the remains of sunlight.

It was not the bone buckled;
You gave me enough food
To renew myself.
It was the mind's weight
Kept me bent, as I grew tall.

It was not your fault.
What should have gone on,
Arrow aimed from a tried bow
At a tried target, has turned back,
Wounding itself
With questions you had not asked.

I sipped candle wax
and was told I was a genius
As it hardened in my throat
And every cut and bruise
Is honored as glory and strength
When it's just a sign of my pathetic mortality
And every step I take into the ocean
On cracked feet and hot skin
Burned because I demanded it to
And 60 days of minimal sleep
Is a sign of dedication
To my waking hours
Rather than successful neurofunction

And for all these reasons,
They tell me I'm smart because
Intelligence is measured in longetivity
In the face of persistent self destruction
Because the sick are those who've truly got it right.

Nietzsche spoke of an inversion of values
Where weakness becomes our pride
And strength is deemed repulsive.

You see, modesty's a virtue
That it's easier to promote
With candlewax
hardening in your
cold,
dead,
throat.

.
Often forgetful
Yet so rarely forgiving
We spin, on and on.

..
I am ever so
In debt to the beginning
For learning to love

...
Every time I
Let go of your memory
I remember more

....
Every passed glance
Is just another reason
To learn how to shine

.....
I am more and more
Becoming what you looked for
My timing needs work

when my fingerprints
are full of ink
or
tip tapping on the keys
I am subject to denial
for
I have not lived with enough
of myself
to write anything
worth your time.

I want to sit on your shoulders
And laugh at the earth
Just like all the stars

That panting belief of men;
a thirst for that which fills the glass,
beckoning the hand to grab the cup
like the itch moving the mind
to believe in
what?
Whether or not it’s enough we still fill that cup;
with some things,
others put in nothing.
Grab your cup and get drunk, get crazy,
love the world who is a capricious lady saying,
"Have one on me, fill it with everything!"
It’s a prayer without word or plea, the sound of everything ringing inaudibly.
It’s the power of song pursing lips to kiss dreams where we believe.
The canvas of our body, mind and soul
where we draw the ink,
imagine the dream,
and become reality.
The moment when the pen is the same as the beast starving for a feast only fit for men.
The same as the artist holding onto their vision.
The same as the language translating the soul within.
The same as the stars burning away the wick of entropy that ends the same as it begins
insofar as all finite things have their dreams in essence of their being
and yearn for infinity.

~


Windows show the world…
Beyond this pane of glass sits my imagination,
well beyond the reflection that greets me
A smiling face perhaps, a somber frown at times,
this transparent image
like a soldier, guards my thoughts
and holds my dreams captive


I can see the chest rise and lower
as breaths escape the figure telling me
it lives, at least for this moment
Still the worry of loss fights through the ghost-like outline
invading my soul,
pulling and pushing on my heart,
leaving me exhausted as my mind sails to the silhouette ahead


Two ships, why do they always pass,
why is it always at night,
when faces are obscured and merely shadows
of a dancing moon
Ripples of friendship, waves of anguish wake,
not knowing the set course or the boundaries of love,
reaching for the anchor…much too late


Currents swiftly dispatch the emotions,
wash away the feelings in salt water swells
Sails are hoisted, memories are swabbed,
clean as a whistle,
melodic and sad for the song
sinks slowly into the mist
only to be swallowed by the sea


Still, here I sit, gazing at this clear protection
finding not sea worthy vessels, but street lights call
and morning suns rise
to eliminate my reflection
as fingers type in the realization
that beyond this glass sits nothing,
for once again I am alone