I’m from rearranged furniture
I’m from “asleep in the bathtub”
I’m from biting hands over
store-bought candy.

I’m from vinyl-white-siding,
No better at keeping in heat
Than keeping out punks,
Four guinea pigs named
“Gamber,”
And a spotted rabbit.

From searching for answers
At the bottom of a bottle,
And not stopping, to think “maybe,”
When the answers aren’t there.

I’m from thrown phones, and
Broken Home,
And diseases they have
Yet to cure.
From layoffs, to layovers, to
A car, that careened
Down the street that I lay in,
And broke the door off its frame,
Leaving an impression on
Unshakable wood.

A Golden Orb-Weaver
On a storm-door handle,
Painted purple and black,
And a blood-curdling scream.
From a run to the backyard
And irrational fears
And the accidental rhyme
Of your mask-haunted dreams

I’m from people who loved me,
Without knowing how,
And people who couldn’t,
Without saying why.

I’m from loving her, a
Little too hard, that when we finally
Broke, We both emerged.
Scarred, and scared.
Groundhogs, and rabbits, and
Cats that weren’t mine.
Being told, at times,
Simultaneous, that I’m
Less than, yet
“Above grade level.”

I’m from baring the blunt-force,
To numbing it all out.
I’m from jazz, chess, and
Tonic water. I’m from
The Wolftones classy sound.
I’m from turning up the
Music so loud, that when
The world covered its ears,
I tried my best
To listen
.
I’m deciding to recreate the world
As I see fit.

I’m going to do something important,
 special,
Before I die. 


I want to invent. An

Existence I feel more content, in.

There’s no wagon to fall off.

Just looming things,

And avoidance. 


I’m deserving of the option to keep

Calling it as I see it. 

Advocating character development,
And suppressing my own hamartia.

Experimenting with sobriety,
And the ending of days.
Fighting off the Great Greyness, unstoppable,
Laying down land-mines, and
Bear-traps, on the
Terrain of Winter.

*I’m going to turn the music up
Louder still,
Until protest, drowned out,
Is inseparable, from
Cheering.

I used to wait all year to
Hear the small clicks as
Tiny rocks from
Our garden scratched
My window.

Stumbling out of bed, I
Sped out to
Race the sunrise.

I remember how the morning felt in the field as
The bluebirds looked on, curious. It
Was wild and I knew
What being a man
Meant when
I scared off a big dog one day that
Made some of the girls scream.

We always went to work without words, when
We got to the clearing,
Surround by the silence of the
Dew-drenched morning, almost unable to
Wait for the berries we knew would be so, so
Sweet.

The morning brings headaches,
Black bruises, and stains
From long-soaking spills,
Crumbs ground into carpets by stumbling heels,
Meaningless messages scrawled careless on walls were
Written by bored ******* waiting to fall.
A cake is uneaten on the floor, overturned,
On the counter behind it the cutlery, spurned,
Is covered in *****, the
Price of a night spent
Waiting for comets.

Meanwhile,
A kid works up a sweat in the sun
Telling the asphalt the
Story of a pastel
Man making music.

He sits on the street, greets
A mangey old dog with a
Song and a
Belly rub, there.

Later on he lets
That dog eat the rest of his
Overdressed salad
And while it digests a
Reporter gets down on
One knee asking
"Are you depressed?"
Oh, he just smiles, says
"Nah man, I'm blessed."

Finished, he admires, then
Hurries inside and
Quietly regrets that the sidewalk
Always forgets.

It springs from teachers giving
Out compliments like
Communion crackers at a
Vegas church,
Gold-starred papers with
Smiley face stickers and
No trace of
Criticism beyond “work on
Punctuation.”

It’s absurd.
For years we’re treated like
Endangered worms,
Told that we’re special but
Kept in closed boxes,
Eventually, spun into
Thick grey silk, stitched into the cloth
Wherever it’s wearing.

I’m frightened, and foolish,
And awful, and vain,
And nonsense, and not
Nearly enough to get by,
And I’m hoping
That nobody notices.

k