One of my
earliest memories is
of afternoons in
the backyard, standing on
a wrought iron chair that
was painted
lime green.
My creativity was feral
The paint was peeling,
And the sun beat down
upon me.

I was 5 years old.
and the Genesis of my
writing career began.
Below my chair was a plastic
swimming pool filled with water.
I sang leaving on a jet plane  I
I understood pathos,
and plot, and melancholia.
In my mind, I was a man
leaving a woman.
As I jumped into the pool
I could smell loneliness.
And I understood the
descent, the separation,
the sadness.

And in my little life,
and in my big heart,
under that hot July sun,
The poet was born.

The way she faked
love on those gentle
autumn nights
in the country
was one of those little
miracles that made the
trees cry, and the
flowers weep.

Sleep brought dreams
of an actor on an
empty stage...
A big crowd that wanted
entertainment.
They followed the actor
everywhere.
He felt like he always
had to be on.
He didn't like that,
so he moved to
Idaho, where he fished
for trout, and real
love.

and
when she left
hemingwey

ernest put the barrel
of a shotgun
in his mouth

big toe
in the trigger ...

line and color
at the tip
of his brush
van gogh
knew her intimately...

ravel
felt her with his heart
and composed
the piano concerto for
the left hand...

and his dead hands
and with his dead hands
still clutching a book of poems by Keats
shelly slept with her
on the sands of Italy...

the wolf and the elk
blood and bone

a savage
animal
she is
when taken
for granted

the night
jumps from
the wall

and...

she walks
8th avenue
in the rain
and snow

beauty always
has her price
(usually 20 and up
depending on
what you want)

I can hear
Them playing,
The devil inside
from the carnival
down the street.
All the bleak
eyes wandering
through the
empty crowd,
looking for
love or dope;
something to change
their perception.

Her skin is full
of holes, and
she's ***** by
the dawn on a
daily basis;
wandering the midnight
streets of this
broken City.
Her feet are
calloused and raw.
That once tough heart is
soft now, looking for
love in the rabid
faces of evil.
Seagulls still fly into
cars, and spiders
spin webs in the dark.
Abandoned houses have
become her home
and her soul aches
for someone to hold.
Sometimes,
dreams float by,
like a dragonfly
on a soft breeze.

Dear mom everything thing u did for me was worth it, If I ever win the lottery I'm gonna hook u up because you deserve it, you gave us purpose even when we were worthless I knew you would never desert us I can't write I felt like I had to cuz ur not a man but you were my dad too at times  u did things for us even if we were mad dude us 3 knew we always had you, took it for granite at times and I could see it in your eyes we were disappointing you, but I told u years ago we would make it up to you years later weve done what we can mom you've raised a good man 3 of them at that, and now we're all emotionally attached your all we got in this world we love you we appreciate everything you have ever done for us thank you we love you mom.

We should have
been so much
more.
Now we're just a torn
page
in a finished book.
The memories are
fading,
but the pain still lingers.
I still smell you on
my fingers.
I still taste you on
my tongue.
Love kills slowly;
a backward glance from
an invisible god.
I'm a bird that sings,
but cannot fly.
I'm the ticking of a
clock.
A rocking chair.

tick

tock...