Drinking
                                                                                                       *Smoking
                                      *******
                                                                                                                                        Partying
                                                                        Dancing
                                                                                                                    Making out

            I don't understand what it's all about.*

                                                            Standing around a party devoid
                                                            Of any fun connection;
                                                            Annoyed by the blatant lack of direction
                                                            Among my peers.  My college years
                                                            Are being spent disassociating myself
                                                            From those hell bent on doing nothing of
                                                            Importance.

Fan letters filled with hawk feathers.
Sticking them in paper like
Razor blades into wrists.
Drawing life from the abyss;
Weatherman predicts clouds
And rain.

Gray and
Grains in the camera; Dharma, I
And Karma took the photo
Of the millennia. Deep in the Congo
Jungle, we stumbled  across a tribal
Ensemble praising Pluto.

Smoke rising from the tribunal pyre.
Through the moonlight you could see the
Galaxy swirling with each gust.

Their lack of attire made their skin shine
Brilliantly in the dark reflections of the fire.
The sweat. The song. The symmetry. The immensity
Of it all was entrancing. We dived into the celebration of
Existence  with little regard of our path.
It was a step forward we'll never take back.

Looking at her in the rear-view
mirror; the hero never looks back
at the explosion; the destruction
of ***** because, honestly, everyone
wants to ***** and ***** and *****.

Her edifice crumbled to the ground
like so many great empires. She thought
her romance was Rome; I put roam in romance
and like Nero, I played music while her cities
burned.

Spitting up the mucus lining
the back of my throat
binding my gag reflex
to every breath.

I hope I don't choke.

Stomach lining
forcing it's way up
and out my throat.
Sliding it's way back down
into my lungs.
Coughing and burning
my air ways. The pain is profound.

It looked like cold bbq sauce at first
but as the forced
contractions became less dispersed
Every thing became more clear.
Whiskey had put me here...

*It didn't hold you down and make you drink it.

He's five years older than me.
He stepped up and became a man
when our father didn't want to be.
When mom was too high and drunk to see
and I was too young to make money
realistically, he
was in the street
making sure we all could eat.

It's a bad place to be at 14.
A brother too young to chase his dreams.
A mother so focused on pleasure,
she doesn't understand the effects of her schemes.

He just wants to escape the Stockton scene
where gunshots ring out like wet towels.
People shouting out sets like wolf howls.
Where the sword is mightier than the pen
and defending yourself just puts you in the pen.
Somehow this boy became three men.
One for me, a man to this day I mirror to be.
One for my father, showing him how to be a daddy.
One for himself because a real man lets nobody determine his wealth.

I have the utmost respect for my brother.
We're not friends on Facebook, Twitter or Tumblr.
We know, without saying, what we mean to each other.
Any day I could call him and ask for a favor.
We can have a whole conversation without the need to speak.
He's even the reason why I'm such a geek.
Nobody can be more of a man than my brother, Dominique.