empty, he hangs
hunger echos eternally
euphoric echelons unreached
up tips the glass
all sixteen ounces vanished
split second, drained down
our dry roiling throat
oscillating, undulating
fleshy chords twanging discordant
as our eyes scan
the floor
for food

the hunger is
not unknown to
me. he speaks
his piece each evening,
growling guttural in the
ear of my psyche
in a word-like lilt
he needs
a constant cadence to
feel full, as he
enthusiastically entreats
every evening

tonight is no
different. across the
table he sees  
one. entrée du jour.
body fills with foul
pitch and sulfurous fire.
and shame, of course,
always shame.
i shouldn’t need this
and neither should he
prescriptive philosophies aren’t particularly
obtainable, he
offers ourselves

rising, a snap
audibly cracks from
my ailing back.
ours? his? hard to
quite say these days
but i digress anyway
we’re halfway to target
rolodex of first topics
spinning manically
searching, manipulating, looking for
that lone loquacious line,
algorithmic in its alignment
to enthrall
engulf, enamor

the spotlight of
consciousness is fickle,
you see. bodies
are only loyal to
themselves. they contain all.
and mine, sometimes, does
not even contain me.
no warning, he simply
begins his hunt, filpped
light switch
so banal and flippant
i am not needed
and so aside cast
succubi schema
sunsetting sense

i don’t know
where i go
it is the
sense of nothing, absence.
my body simultaneously there
and gone. i feel
some of it. pleasure
sneaks seductively up into
my sinew and bones.
i always wonder who
was first
which of the ******
spirits presiding amongst my
cells was the first
to see
sumptuous sunlight

as his evening
seeps into me
squeezing into the
small spaces where i
still exist, i flux
both small and sprawling
my void form changes
with me, taking direction
from my wandering thoughts
“was he born here?”,
i inquire
ineffably to no one.
expecting an answer, none
comes. just the squawk
of *** and sheets,
vibrato voices
vigorous, vehement.

couldn’t say who
was first out
but i’m first  
up today, rays rousing
from sleep and stupor.
i see her with
my eyes for the
first time, curled up
like a kitten, exhausted
of the evening’s destruction.
cast into her shoulder,
his teeth
show i’m the stranger
here. like mine but
aren’t. can’t be. never
met me. still, she
serenely slumbers
silent, sensuously

voiceless now in
his void, we
are finally separate.
abandoned to the labors
of the morning, infernal
impulses satiated, i go
method, best impression donned.
she is, obviously, confused
by the reality of
me. former affection burning
away like vampire’s flesh
in light of day
succubi’s *******
now gone dry. so
too it’s mosquito’s charm
subtle and soft, now
irritated, vulnerable. hurt. and
alone i
am again.

it
now. it asserts itself. makes itself known. rises from a vague landscape where,
starts slow.
what seems like moments ago, there was only tanned and tender skin.
first, a trickle of
we know its not fair, of course we do, how life
a thing, drip drip dripping
insists on malicious amalgamation of the blameless bright beautiful but
slipshod slipping in and out of
leaves us. we drift aimlessly, searching equally so for
schisms in the essence of a being.
a point. no signal, just noise. like static
like an idea in the back of your head,
but meta. we cut a crashing hiss
scritch scratching around, abound for parts afar and away
through days they never got to
chitter chattering all day, grabbing your tongue, taking your say.
taste. we try to hurry
then, just like that idea, there it stays. festering and flayed,
nowhere, without you. our
invisibly inviable too. just like you. i hate it but it's true.
attempt at
as we mourn the arrival of another morning, alas, it becomes less metaphorical,
growing.

in the bottoms
the lowest points
tesseract echos
of clicking jaws
clamping down
clacking shut
with voices
murmuring in between
the soft augur
exfoliating down
a sandpaper of teeth
garrote out
in such
kind supply
and velvet layers
fluttering through
so soft
this psyche
crash pad
a spiral
funneled down
or out?
dunno but
scribbly sounds
reverb around
greatful dead
demonic retiree
homely calling
there there
even evil
gives a break
just be
all ideas
struggle to
swim so
float a spell

did you ever close your eyes tight as a kid?
i mean, REALLY tight. Tight™.
so tight that the dark gives way
to deeper dark which, inexplicably,
explodes into starburst sparkles of abyss,
dark-light shimmering like eyelid fireworks
Lawrence’s nethers, bemoaning bavarians
and gloom, black blooms blossoming all
around

keep squeezing. keep looking, head bowed low
do you see the mad shadows now?
at first dancing geometric, measured
soon to vanish spectrally into the void
then – back! now embracing iteration
forward-thinking in their anti-euclidean considerations
midnight backdrop finally filling with colors; form
the first cracks of crimson breaking forth, shaping
it

don’t give up now. I wouldn't. he wouldn’t.
mama didn’t raise no quitter now, did she?
(or whatever aphorism gets you going
just get there) have you? good. stay.
for me, those shards of red form rivers
tributaries of some inner sanctum
a breach in the boundless black on black
static, silent and solemn, shhhhhhhhs
the space in-between paradoxically shifts. Then,
we

finally see it. the impossible pool. the reflection
somehow gleaming through white noise to a
subtle blue-sable flow, rippling ever-outward
can you see yourself? no? keep looking down.
i do, my face embarrassingly younger than i’d like to admit
vanity finding me even here, even at the core of my being
for a moment, all is peace. calm. christ-like in repose
memories flood forth, ajna working overtime
these ones don’t smack so sour, more often than not
in my father's favorite dives, only dregs in his glass
remain


but, like all tides, it turns. the backwash bitter
acerbic, odorous. the brimstone feel of it confuses
i’m half-expecting to be boiled by a burst of flame
none comes. the pool simply calms, somehow hellishly frozen
it is a mirror now, harsh and unyielding. i stayed too long (did you?)
nostalgia holds my neck down at first, but only just. they
rush forth, recollections forming a phalanx. a salvo.
Ah! –  but water does better than fused sand can at
justifying a god's ways to man. and so, it gives.
blasting upward, each now an arrowhead, rending rifts across me
traumatic bear trap sprung, Nemesis on Narcissis punishing
a hubris apparently deserving the maximum sentence of
always

i know what happened to Liropie’s son, gazing longingly into the depths
of his pool, Echo’s pining just ringing out for the first time
how his ardent passion, his primordial linage, burned him
from the inside out. he melted, that child of **** and regality
his tears rending deep rifts, a hunter in bittersweet appreciation
for the trap he understood himself to be snared within. he knew
he'd never leave. must have, storied slayer that he was.
a wounded gazelle in denial, bargaining with the Fates frivolously
he knew the score, packed it in. burst forth into molten golds
and whites. rebirthed radicles reaching for a new day
yet the sky above bears down, ever down, to the vengeful mirror below
always is always, ya know? i get it. but i find myself asking
how long did it take? how long did he bow and bleed?
how long before he made himself a karmic ingot? before
sorry.

under a waxing July moon
dripping with corona
hung in a clear night sky
i sit with my father’s ashes
tilting a glass up
of bottom shelf scotch
looking up
at the brown bats
flying broad circles in the air

like cogs, they spin
forever counterclockwise
in each another small life
snapped up and consumed
each cycle no doubt
filling their bellies
instincts fulfilled
catharsis for the moment
at least

among the dulled chirps
of functionally infinite crickets
near cacophony
a gentle but fierce flash
drawn from our chiropterological studies
on instinct
i turn rapidly to the plastic black box
that contains the remainder
of my dad
still defensive
despite the doneness of time’s deeds

bioluminescent chartreuse
warmly highlights what remains
a firefly, seeking respite
from the night’s work
of high stakes family planning
joins us for a moment
looking down, i join him too
with an embering spliff
drawing at his pace
least i could do, right?
our radiant rhythm
giving just enough light
for a single shard of bone
to gleam

we watch
as dusk drapes itself
across the horizon
crescent moon emanating ominously
lunar rays casting down
and one by one new gleams appear
we see the bats as well
me, new friend, and dad,
witness to the minute lights
of the fireflies, dancing
looking for purpose in a
brief brief window
one vanishing, in silence
with every arc of the bats
who continued their work
with admirable precision

but okay, i can feel you thinking about it
still on the ashes thing
its okay, i get it. fair enough.
my father, he died in June
you know the story
consumed alive by life
a juggernaut we all know
in the lungs
probably elsewhere too
decades of smoke congealed
of subterranean quality scotch scorched
old habits are hard to break
no, it wasn’t easy
yes, it was bad
for months, i was at his bedside
read him his final rites
looked him in the eyes
as he went
and i have to tell you
the light never left
i watched the whole time

possibly ironically
he had hung
on our fridge
since i was small thing
a Dylan Thomas poem
c’mon, you know the one.
rage, rage, and all
do not go gentle into that good night
blah blah blah
very apropos here, no?
i read and reread it
must have been a dozen times
in the moments after he rattled his last
it was half buried
under a few coupons
and a tavern menu
as i pulled it out
so too came
a dozen appointment reminders
magnets of polarized teeth
wrenches
and otherwise nondescript squares cascading
to the linoleum floor
also forgotten, unearthed
sorry, i’m off track
this isn’t the point

as we sit here
we happy few
watching nature
under the night sky
i think about that poem
i think about my father
i think about his scotch i'm drinking
i think about the fireflies and the bats
did he? do they? will i?
i hear nothing as they go
miracles of the universe that they are
making their own light in the darkest of places
they are just. gone.
one by one
following instinct
consumed by inevitable things
flying silently in the night
following instinct
one by one
seems pretty gentle to me

then again, dad didn't
i heard a lot as he went
i heard every groan as i lifted him
to and from the transport chair
dozens of times
back and forth
body betraying him
in simple but
vicious ways
vagus nerve, lying ***** that it is
i heard him as i cleaned him
when i told him i loved him
at night when he spoke to
the terrible magnificent dreams of the dying
i heard him
but it didn’t sound like rage.
no lightning forked there.
it was relegation.
rumination.
respite.

my father is dead, yes. but this isn’t about him.
maybe it was, in June. but it is July
he is already gone. and he is still here.
right next to me, under this starlit sky
watching the twinkling dancers in the yard
flicker, flicker – then out
dashed dreams of love and life
snuffed out in a moment
the bats, ever round and round
one by one
doing their best to survive too
to make it another night
to another circle
another cycle
they spin until nothing is left
cogs turning
great machine of life moving
beautiful for a moment
then done

we are no different
we three
now two
our small friend heading off
to work
to life and love
then death
dad, well. he was just ahead of schedule
spun to his own pace, sure
but like a dervish he went
vorpal speed delighting
daring
devastating
until that last good night
green irises still glimmering
though his body grew cold
no tears to curse, bless me now
just luminance, vestiges of thought
in eyes i realize remind me
of my firefly friend,
now likely former

i consider this
the reality of my father
his final form, immolated
at my side
i ponder how i can learn
from his example
his life
how i can survive
thrive
while I finish his rotgut
and my waning smoke
swearing to live differently
habits dying hard
watching the fireflies flash
the bats circle
everything in its harrowingly right place
under a waxing July moon

on nights like this, hell, most nights
the cost is far too unbearable, it breaks the bank
breaks the soul too
the thought of waking again,
starting anew, rings absurd and distant like a land
too far and fair to be true
night wraps gently around me
both negligee and noose, swaddling, suffocating
what life is left
how long? how long will I wait?
bespoke bereft, i know. i did it all to myself.
pain into pride slowly crept
sure, my eyes will close and i
will drift down into the blaze-blue blackness of my mind
whereupon lurks
some peace. a lulling void left
alone, mine, free of each trial and terror laid as
a trap, intended to bind.
no ball or chain. an anklet
will do. reminds me of the ever-presence of you.
yet you’re not here.
daylight begins to break through
night disappears, void dispersing. with each, my concerns
too. out I go, fearless now
So suave So stoic So strong
Confident in the natural order and My place
til i feel it
again, ethereal
but there and so **** heavy
an anklet. yours.
i can’t pay for it anymore.