no one really wants to die.

no one wants to go through with the act of bringing the razor to their wrist or swallowing the pills or pushing themselves off-

what they want
is to escape.

Crimes and recriminations, swear oath to the Constitution, so help me God, Charlottesville, good men on both sides, a merry-go-round of sychophants and con-men, love letters to dictators, not up, not in, partying with Epstein, ******* prostitutes and playgirls, Maga rallies and riots. turning Oval Office into black box, pulling kids, even babies, from mothers's arms, a wall too far, no bridges, can't read or write English, pandemic a "Democrat hoax," Mar-a-lago back swing, under the bus, orange skin and orange hair, no empathy, blaming others, one impeachment after another, take 'em to court 50-60 times, racists, neo-Nazis, white supremacists, KKK, won by a landside, storm the Capitol, hang Pence, **** Pelosi, another day in democracy, Air Force One, America last.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

I made a
vision board
in treatment
the other day.
I had to
hunt for a
picture of
Mom and Dad.

Where the ****
did the time go?
They have been gone
for over 30 years now.

The hour glass
broke,
and the sand
blew and blended
me in with the
storms of life.
I tried to
drink
all the pain away;
to become a
lobotomized shell.
It didn't work.
The poet in me
felt everything.

I have four
kids that my
parents never got
to meet.
Sometimes I see
Mom and Dad
in my son's and
daughter's eyes.
Two have blue
like Dad.
And two have brown
like Mom and me.
They are
intelligent
sensitive
and caring.

When I was
little, I thought
my parents would
live forever.
On my vision
board,
I become a
better father.

When did this sadness become so much bigger?
Something with sharp tooth and malicious jaw,
Biting as though nothing were even there.

To be truthful,
Sometimes I toss my heart away, like garbage.
Even though, I know it's all I've got.

For there's this thing inside me,
And it is something more than sadness.

I was walking in
that old betrayer,
rain.
I was soaked to the gills,
and my wingtips were
sloshing on every
broken sidewalk.
The wind took my last
match, so smoking was out.
I'd give my liver for
a lighter and two
dimes to rub together.
I think I'll join the
carnival, get on that
tunnel of love and never
get off.

For the first time in my
life, I saw colors- not like
normal people see colors; my recent woman
sees colors all the time.
This morning, there was
purple splashed all over my room.
Once, in her sleep, she said
the word 'purple.'
I asked her what it meant,
she said, 'Knowledge of the future.'
I know she will try and ***** this
sickness out of me; God Bless her.
What do I know about the future?
I know it looks bleak, and the
doves are crying.

When it's quiet, except for
the fan in the hall
and apathy crawls across the
floor like a spider
and the enemies are
thicker than friends
and the brain dries up
and the flame goes out
and writing a decent line is
like panning for gold...
Remember
it's a long row to ***.

When nothing touches
you but the rain
and the wind, and the
pain from the sins of
your youth
and every fruit in
the garden is rotten
and you take a bite
just to keep from starving, and now
what you know can't be forgotten,
remember
it's a long
row to ***.

When each pain is new
and every sorrow is fresh with
the opening of the eyes
and
if
you're blind to the darkness
of the world
or
you see it all too well...
remember
it's still a
long row to ***.