it just hit me
how dead
snail mail is

Going on this trip
I told my grandson,
with measured exaggeration:
“I’ll send you a letter
the moment I get there”

“Yes, send me an A,”  he said

...Should've let go and here I am, still holding on...

I do feel like a flow..
Of
Spilt Ink..
Sometimes.

Projected onto the lives of the people around me..
Like a dark'blackish'blue'blot'of'a'mess'.
A permanent stain that everyone just has to 'deal with'
The one that couldn't be erased
But the one who,

*....was never meant to be there all the same.

Your suicide was quiet.
You left a short note
And named no names,
So I was told;
I never brought myself
To read it.

You'd let the embers of
Yourself turn to ash.
You buried so many things
Deep down that dug their way back up
Through your insecurities
And doubts and fears and hate
And one day you had enough.

He found you on his bed.
He called me third,
After the paramedics and your parents.
Your funeral was
Supposed to be a celebration
Of the life you lived.
Your father keeps your dog.
Your mother keeps everything else
In her garage and finds a new excuse
Every day to keep it in there.
I keep that flower you forgot,
Upside down in the socket of the lamp
My grandfather built from
Ashtrays and doorknobs.

Your suicide was quiet;
Mine will not be.
I will not go peacefully,
I will not go unnoticed,
I will not go unexpectedly,
I will not go quietly.

I will shake the sky
With my death.
I will crumble buildings
With my last breath.
I will show fear to the gods
That you convinced me weren't there
With your quiet suicide.

My new favorite poet is a fifteen year old girl.
Margaret is clever it's astounding.
I knew youth was coming like this but usually when I saw it up close they we're just these maniacal computer wiz kids but this girl seems to party.
I hope she meets Alex Turner someday.
I hope she meets Andrew VanWyngarden too.
I don't know why, but I guess it's because they're dashing and she deserves the best.
I hope the world don't tangle her up too much and don't sit on her like a fat bully.
I know she can dodge it though and we need her and her vision of peace like a checkpoint.
My favorite new poet is a fifteen year old girl.
Shine on Margaret, light up the world.

Somebody told me
that in their dream
I had said, 'Love is so hard to find,'
and they said, 'I'm right here'
and we kissed
and then another person
took my face in their hands
and giggled, and didn't, and I failed,
I always have that dream when I just hold someone
I just hold them in my arms all night long and that's when I know it will end
some people are scared love will never find them because they've never felt it
and I think they're lucky, they're lucky because love hurts
it hurts and its an ordeal that will scar your heart
I'm scared my heart is too scarred to pump anymore
I'm tired of falling for people,
and I dreamed of you every night for months and
you didn't dream of me, you didn't look at me,
you don't owe me anything for me just being nice to you
but I don't hate you for not loving me,
I hate myself for loving you.

I will never know the roughness of your hands,
The way you talk at 3 in the morning when we talk about the dreams we have,
How you sound when you sing in the shower,
What it looks like after you eat at the table,
If it's messy or clean,
I will never know the feel of your face when it's just been shaved,
Or when it's scruffy,
What it feels like laying next to you knowing you love me more than life itself,
What you sound like when you just wake up,
I will never know you,
Only what you claim to be.