Sometimes I feel, like a fatherless child,
Gone astray, depending on old unreliable me,
Sometimes I feel, like a fatherless child,
Lord why am I struggling,
Why am I  struggling when I'm free

Sometimes I feel, like a fatherless child,
Wake up and I'm crying,
Feels like I'm running out of time,
Sometimes I feel,
like a fatherless child,
That which I want to do I don't do,
But that which I don't want to do
Lord I do it all the time

It was in this place, found in the southern sky,
That he was born between two bright stars, Spica and Antares.
Libra's scales of justice would be his destiny.
Articulate, creativity and integrity was his badge of honor.

A southpaw that had hands of strength and determination.
An astronomical heart that pounded out an undying love for his family.
Your family is remembering you this this day and for those to come.
And this evening, as we face the southern sky, we'll signal you with our flash lights...

... so you know we love and miss you dearly.

,how do you know when
(a human is too broken?)



<•>

human too broken?

like the light bulb, removal from its fixture, a simple shaking revelation of the tinkling filament spent, something that cannot be repaired, the only option is replacement and that makes
you cry

the empty box of oatmeal raisin cookies, you find secret’d,
hid by you, not to be found by you
at the bottom of the kitchen garbage,
but box betrayal, by the chartreuse tipped box lid sided
peeking upwards, asking, silencing screaming,
what did I do to deserve
this degrading

like the blouse now too tight that it brings stares as the buttons strain, unwelcome attention unintended,
you know it but still pretend not to see,
for you both once loved that silky guise that so
heightened the high tender, the match of your pink rose skin letting, no! making
your eyes glisten, like broken filament glass, on the sidewalk,
recalling the pleasured admiration,
rain remembered from the
prior priority of a life consisting of only
perfect gifts

so mean revert to the poseur question; this is how...

remove the human from a fixed place, whimpering-threatened,
you may hear clear the crackle cackling  of the innard shards against the misperception of a body intact,
even if you do,
no repair service you want,  can be found, see it nowhere,
is it even
anywhere advertised?

the body presumed intact is secret’d under a tactile coverlet,
holey scupperrd holy cuttered
so that the cells and bicuspids, the threads
no longer function in a tandem,
you keep it in the closet closed,
in the back, deep hid, where,
when it screams why,
it can be safe ignored,
because  ‘betrayed’ is no longer a word,
in your globe's dictionary,
the parental controls activated by you to
save your own inner child’s unconstrained confusion,
it has been removed


so the broken glass, the clothes you dressed each other,
if not weep-well,
well enough hid,
the fit is off,
the fit is off,
the coverlet ripped so bad and neither cares