“Keep your nose clean”

His intent was momentous.
An ant like phrase,
with mountainous exorcism.

“Keep your nose clean”,
His voice like Zeus,
thunderously subtle.

Echoing and vibrating,
through regret, sin,
and fueled debauchery.

This phrase kept me true,
on-course through,
dark seas.

A map to navigate,
knowing when,
to steer away.

“Keep your nose clean”
I hear him still,
his voice sobering.

“Yes, grandfather.”

“I will”

I’m in the dream again:                not the one I had while awake in
the catacombs of St. Callixtus in Rome.  Where the darkness was
so impenetrable that it began to echo.  To look like the mixture of colors
that burst when you rub your eyes too hard for too long.  Like the
neuron rupture before death.  To shape and morph and become liquid.
Where the darkness cobbled itself into a physical form.

Not the dream where                    I kept seeing
flits of my mother out of the corner of my eye.  Behind
                                                                ­                               every street corner.
                                                                ­                   Every turn.  Every tunnel.  
      Reflected in the casts of the bodies in Pompeii.
Mirrored in the waves of the Trevi Fountain.

I’m in the dream where          the soil churned from the bottom to the top.  
                               where          the hand outstretched from the grave.  
                               where          my grandfather clawed his way out and returned to my grandmother﹘sopping wet, covered in thick mud, socks torn, skin sallow and jaundiced, spitting out the wire the embalmers put in his mouth, melting makeup, and ravenously hungry.  And it’s been so
                                                                ­                   long since he was hungry.  

“He came back to me, Taylor,” my grandmother tells me. 
“He came back to me.”
                                        I don’t have the heart to tell her that he’s undead.  
                                        I’m physically unable to spit out those words.
And it’s a dream and it’s a dream and it’s a dream,                   but
it just fits so perfectly.  That he would come back to her.  
That death would not be a barrier.  I can’t explain it.                It just is.  
My grandmother is a shell without him.  
The body that’s missing the limb.  
The body that keeps score.

Albert.

He was a wonderful, gentle soul
Always had everything under control
Born one of many
Back in nineteen twenty

Enemies weren't ever  made
He fought as a Master sergeant, facing the dark crusade
With people he saved

Went home after the war
To his wife, who he adored
Was a father of two
Who was very close to

Mr. Fix- it
Which he never once quit
Had four jobs to progress in life
His wife never once left his side

A Simple man, at best
Never had the chance to take a rest
Loved his hot, cozy comfort food
Never once saw him in a foul mood
Always robust with happiness and soaring energy
But time passed on and began to get elderly

As the years grew closer
And he got older
His health was at risk with his heart
Not wanting to begin to fall apart

He slipped away on Christmas Eve morning
Not giving us any warning
In nineteen ninety-seven
Now he resides in heaven

The only time he comes back alive
Is in my mind, fast asleep
When at times, I can hear his ghost creep
Silently into my room
And then suddenly wake up feeling in a slight gloom
Even though I can't see him I can feel his spirit all around
Wishing how he could’ve lived in our small Tennessee town

Albert left a legacy
Of how people should act and be
But those kinds of ways are all gone
He would've loved his life, living on Saint John
It's been Twenty-three years since he's passed
It's crazy how one's life can be gone in a flash

See if I can say
what we were thinking, regarding
hows and whys,
rules and regulations

the mortal world you imagine I share
with you is exactly as you think it is.

Your mind makes a make-do, each day,
from sleep to sleep,
very much a Wachowski vision,
without the likes of which,
my people perish, the we

of me and thee, dissipates, vapor

sswoosh and gone, like flowers,
here today,
more tomorrow, say the flowers,
to the bees, now we make seeds,
casting all future hopes
into the wind, like a wish or a prayer.

See you when the winter's past,
says the squirrel to the frog.

Hi nanny how is heaven?
I wish I could see you
Nanny I miss your wonderful meals
I wish I could have your Sunday meals
Nanny I love you
Nanny i miss you
I wish you were here
I miss our I spy games
I miss spending nights
and being spoiled
Nanny say hi to grandfather  and daddy for me
Hi grandfather how's heaven?
Do you see dad a lot ?
Do you see nanny ?
I hope you are all living together
Grandfather I miss you and love you
Remmber when you thought my name was Tuna lol
Grandfather I hope all is well
When heaven has visiting hours I will be  the first to visit you and Nanny and Daddy
bye for now