Skin is just tissue and tissue wrapped around body, keeping its contents from going this way and that. (It's also really painful to walk with no barrier between the Earth and the sinew and bones of your feet.) Think of when you see a woman, and your belly just yearns, and you feel like you are going to throw up, like something is actually thrashing inside of you, trying to find escape, or when you're with that women, and that thrashing subsides to manipulation, and organs begin to move of their own accord: lips upon lips, and hips upon hips; beasts ravaging and ravishing until they find escape.

So close, so far; so close, so far.
Only four years apart.
And here is a man who has created something that others enjoy,
but he can call his own.
Something easy, something accessible, something simple,
and he's served so many who can so easily take it for granted.
Has he money or merit or formal praise or accolade,
I know not, but fame and fame and fame,
for creating a way, a niche, a salon for the literary minded
to congregate and ventilate,
meditate and salivate,    
indeed* create [and] regurgitate.
Thanks to thee our blessed Eliot York.
Lead on; lead on.

Was it you
who touched
your mother's shoulder
that night
as she wept?

(I was drugged up
(sleeping pill),
so slept.

She finds
Mondays
the worst,
the day you died,
than the rest.

Cuts her up,
brings her
to a low ebb.

Saturdays are mine,
the day it all seemed
to go wrong,
two days before
your death,
the incompetence,
the mistakes
seemingly made;
things not done.  

Was it you?
we deem it so.

The gentlest
of touches,
as she shed
her tears,
turned and saw
I slept
as she wept.

Grief comes
in waves,
high rushes
of it, sweeping
all before it
towards
the shores
of hurt and pain,
comes again
and again.

Who to count
the leaves
of grief's tree?

Who to count
the stars
of doubt
and death
and regret?

Was it you?
We think it so.

Gives her
a sense of relief
from the bites
of gnawing grief.

Yesterday was a dark doomer.
I thought I saw you
here and there
in the other town
where once we wandered
years ago.

Grief had a field day,
keeping me low.

I wandered shops
with the others
and alone, feeling
on the edge, looking
into that dark abyss.

I bought a Hunter
Thompson book
from the cheap
book shop,
the girl gave me a,
why did you buy that?
kind of look;
young girl,
bored maybe,
thinking of her
boyfriend or girlfriend
or whosoever.

I thought of you,
you, my son,
the way you went,
the unanswered
questions so far,
holding your hand
as you slipped away,
flat-lining heart.

We had sandwiches
and drank,
in the inside café;
watched other people
do their thing,
life going on,
unaware
that dark doomers
were sitting there.

But of course,
you knew, you were
probably there
unseen by us,
eating a burger
and sipping a cola,
(at least
in that spirit world
as we think,)
looking at us,
sipping your drink.

Fay rubs her
rosary
between thumb

and finger
the black beads
holding prayers

but she thinks
they also
bring comfort

to her heart
usually
when her dad

loses it
and hits out
because she'd

forgotten
the Latin
of the Creed

mispronounced
Latin prayers
Baruch said

(the Jew boy
from downstairs)
your old man

doesn't know
the essence
of his faith

just the shell
of it all
Baruch said

God was one
for each and all
for the big

and the small
for the good
and the bad

for the wise
and the fool
her father

doesn't like
young Baruch
and forbids

her to talk
or see him
but she does

and meets him
secretly
for their talks

and their walks
in the park
at the old

cinema
Fay puts her
rosary

in the small
cloth pocket
of her dress

her fingers
leaving there
the small but
special prayer.

I can't forget you,
I'll always weep at
the thought of you
while drunk on emotion.

I wait until I'm alone to
look at the photographs
I've managed to salvage.
I selfishly cherish the memory
of our times together.

I stand fixed in the thick green
grass and stare at your name
engraved in the marble.
I always run my fingertips
across each letter.

I include you in all that I
do,I be the Plato
to your Socrates.

I drink more now,
always the cheap stuff,
mostly alone,
and forever shadowed by
your memory.

This still  new relationship
with LOSS has already
changed me as a person.
I've accepted the fact that
you're gone, but it doesn't mean
that I'm OK with it.

I look forward to sleep,
thats when I see you.
That's when I hear you.
Can you hear me?
See me?
Feel how much I miss
You?
Probably not but that's
Ok,all you ever did was
Care for me,
Loved me.

What a selfish fool I've
been,
I am.
Even now all I really want
Is you back in order for
me to Love,
for me to care for...

Never knew grief
could bite so deep,
my son. Dark night
succeeds dull day,
images replay
in black and white,
through dawn hours
following night.

Words captured,
last ones, over
and over in my
tired mind, in order,
exchanges, mundane,
but special now,
being the last.

Never thought
the knife of grief
could ****** so hard,
between shoulder blades,
heart, lungs, throat tight
and seemingly slit,
words choke, unable
to say, fingers push
damp cheeks
of tears away.

Dark day succeeds
drugged up night,
dawn's light
puts nothing right.

Never knew death
could undo so well,
my son, knew nothing
of the end game
until you went.

Life is not forever
just a brief gift
or maybe lent.
Never knew grief
could could so undo.

Dream following
nightmare, looking
for you, my son, for you.

Jane helped me
get the cows in
from the field
towards the farm

up the narrow
country lane
high hedgerows
birds singing

rooks above our heads
making a terrible noise
she had her black hair
tied back

with a yellow ribbon
the flowery dress
and black boots
dressed her feet

saw a wren's nest
up there
I said
indicting a place

up in the hedgerow
above
the small stream
you didn't disturb it

did you?
she said
no just saw it
and took

a mental picture
of it
she smiled
some boys about

disturb the nests
and take the eggs
for their collection
she said

they should
know better
she added
as we drove

the cows up
towards the farm track
you've taken
to the country

well for a London boy
she said
it was
a big culture shock

I said
but I like it now
she looked at me
with her dark eyes

she patted
the rear of a cow
in front of her
my mother likes you

she said
does she?
I asked
yes she says you're

different
from the other
boys about here
what's so different

about me?
I asked
you're trustworthy
Mother said

she doesn't mind me
being with you
I nodded my head
and looked

at her hands
slender
white
and the nails

well kept
she doesn't know
about the kiss?
I said

Jane smiled
no but there's
no harm in that
the kiss I mean

if Mother asked me
I’d tell her
but no harm done
I could still taste

the kiss on my lips
my lips' memory
had stored it away
for keeps

warm and wet
her lips and mine
my hand
on the small

of her back that time
we drove the cows
into the farm yard
and into

the milking sheds
where we helped
the cowmen
to set up

the machines and feed
I watched her
out of the corner
of my eye

taking in
her figure
the way she stooped
her hair

and how her hands
touched the cows gently
wishing that her hands
would touched me

as tenderly
maybe she will
I inwardly said  
taking in

her total being
into my 13 year old head.