the fluorescent light, shaped like memory
tries hard to stay on, to be of use
in the garage
in the attic
in the kitchen.
the rest of this town just stays off-
a stage behind a curtain, a door removed from its hinges.
and the people dancing on the other end
are orphans in the open, abandoned and excited-
and I am in love with weekend democracy.

moving on..

her face is red like cancer,
I pretend not to notice
but burst like diamonds from the mine
and now her secret is aggressive
and chases me through the acid baths
and death camps of Baghdad.
we are at war.
we are bullets inside a terrible machine.
we are deus ex machina.

moving on..

once you were beautiful,
undrugged and free of molestation. God still rode on
training wheels and pretty prayers-
gee baby, ya remember the days?
a youthful version before the *******,
before the black Iris grew,
before the sparks turned blue.
O soft poison. O innocent spew,
I love you.

I remember your breathtaking portrait.
Your eyes were horizon-blue, awake and ignited in love with a modern man.
In a modern era a love so hot you’re prepared to grieve it 
for the rest of your life
Just to dance in its fire until it fades.
You burst forth and lit the fuse,
Loving hot and working feverishly to emerge and
Forge futures for your daughter and I.
But her father burnt out young,
And his ashes lured her into a shivering, toxic sleep.
In that future she also loved a man she would widow young.

She has felt the cold fire of snow on her face
Passed or thrown out onto the ground
But I can’t tell you if she ever felt that love again.
I won’t tell you about all the cats and dogs she slept with
Or how she threw me and threw at me and all through me
To the sheriffs in a wild state.
Then, with you, she lost love in the last person who loved her.
Her voice cracked and shaded when you couldn’t remember her name.
She drowned both of our spirits and we slept poor, wet, drunk.
These decades have tired her body
And I refused to allow its cold hollow eyes near mine.

Asleep, I consumed myself with the loves of men and the grief for each love.
I ate and breathed men and fever-dreamed through relationships.
I aimed poisoned golden robes at lovers thrown with a motor’s velocity
And then ran loud red lights smoldering through hot teared eyes
With the unsober intention to silence us both in the burning frost of February.
Hate veiled all reason and hystericized my being and thirsted for more:
More prohibited liquor than I could ever nurse it with
More pills than the pock-nosed doctor would give when he
Sliced open the belly of a howling wild animal mother me.
Many more.

And when I died I awoke in ice and raged my way to the surface of the Styx.
It was there I emerged warm and wet next to a modern man who reminds me of you.
I fell and I rose through our molten love and forged myself within it.
We, in a worn and unwealthy future still love and work for our unborn daughters
As hotly in dynamic color as you did in crisp black and white.

Through him and through you I can love her again.
And when our daughter bursts through, undrugged and undoctored,
She will incite her own century’s hot voltaic Spring,
In a pyrotechnic era of alive and alert daughters,
Gaining ground and dimension and speed,
Because she will know our love.
I wish you could see the horizon in your daughter’s eyes
When she sees our yet unconceived apple of discord.
I hope the warmth will awaken her, and she will emerge and forge herself
And know again the good rage of a fiery and awake love
Worth grieving.

Sometimes I miss my family so much, the weekend brunches, the shopping the laughing the fighting. When is missing too much? And when do we choose what's right for us? How do we know where we are or what we are doing is right? Sometimes I wonder if would be easier back home but I enjoy challenges, but maybe I'm starting to recognize that I have family. Some who have passed and I know what life is worth. The beauty of someone you love living is so precious and I believe should be cherished. But to what degree? If we all stayed near our family would we be consumed by comfort? Is that a bad thing? Or Oder all left the nests. Would that be selfish? Would then be the regret we hoped to not have in life when we choose to leave in hopes to never regret not leaving. What's right? We will never know. 4 years of a precious souled nephew I have has passed in his 6 years of age. And the niece well she's two. Sometimes I'm the one who feels like I'm missing out. On life. As it unfolds and grows. And for what? I am lucky. I am grateful. I have a serious need to search and find happiness. My sister once told me places don't make you happy whose around you does. Guaranteed she and I don't make each other happy all the time and thinking of going back to be able to hold her each day makes that thought worth all the loss and gain. I love them. That feeling is real and true. Something I have taken for granted. But could I live? In a small town once again? I could for the love of my family. But I fear my boredom. Because being around ppl gives me an undrugged high. Something that I crave. I crave the ppl who don't know me, the ppl who shouldn't matter but for some strange reason I have a strong comfort in that. My family, they know everything. They can see right through me. And yes they call it out; as they should. Going back home can be exhaustingly draining, but I appreciate the reality check, and I appreciate the love they give without hugs, I know it's there, because they know the real me. The real me who has such troubles no one could ever see. The real me no one in this world would wish to be. Drownding in an ocean. Floating on a wave. That's the peace I feel in the small towns. With slowly driving by faces pass I might know from the tiny tiny town, a daze I have from the years I spent drained and weak, literally unable to speak. Those memories stay when I go back. But the memories of real love, real friendship, real happiness, real music, real health, that's all there too. And so is my family. I wish they would move. I suppose I'm just not ready to leave NYC yet. Time will tell and I will remain comfortable by that thought. But the more I visit the more I miss them. Family is everything. I believe in that, and I'm thankful for the little family I have.