i don't watch home movies
hate them
reason being because
when i was young
i was looking for a movie
my mother
had recorded for me
and accidentally
put one in the vcr
that i'm not sure
i was supposed to see
i know the obvious response
"uh oh, ****"
sorry to disappoint
they were only marked with dates
  1991
on live television
montel williams asks my father
"how can you just throw
your child away like a piece of trash?"
   1994
i spend so much time
in the emergency room
that my parents stop
penciling in growth marks
on the frame
of my bedroom door
i always thought
it was because they believed
i would never grow out
of this sickness
sometimes i believe
the reason that they
never bought me a dream catcher
was because they never thought
i'd live long enough
to see them come true
   1996
i am eliminated
from a spelling bee
because i didn't know
the 'dad' is silent in 'family'
   2013
before i got into poetry
i used to do standup
none of my jokes were funny
one of the other comics
tells me my skits are dry
sometimes sad
he says "why don't you joke
about something like your family?"
so i say
"i never wore any sunblock
because i didn't want anything
to keep me from my father"
i say "what do you call christmas
without lights or heat?"
before he has a chance
to answer
i say "1997. better yet
why don't you
make like a dad and
leave"
   2014
every time we drive
past the hospital
my mother reminds me
how much it cost to save my life
like she'd rather
have her money back
she doesn't have to say
that sometimes she wishes
it was me who had died
instead of my brother
i can hear it in the way
she says "love you"
sometimes i imagine
that if i were to die
that she
would pick out a casket for a child
because she never loved
the person i became
yesterday i told my father
how close i'd been
to suicide lately
and he said
"that's my boy,
livin on the edge.."
and i can't remember
if i laughed
or cried

He walks backwards into a room, takes of his jacket and sits down
The bartenders slides him money and a receipt
He slips the money back into his wallet and the bartender fetches the receipt from under his shot glass
His makes a bitter face as the alcohol creeps back up his throat
He picks it up and sips it back into the glass from his mouth
Things in rewind seem much easier
Like ants running back into their hole
Raindrops flying into the sky
Your skin will soften, teeth will sink back into your gums
Your shoes will get bigger, feet smaller
You will remember less memories
Remember less of the pain
You will forget about all the nights you lay in awe of how much you miss him, you will think of him getting drunk
Wishing he would spit it back into the bottle
Wishing he would unhang up the phone
Wishing you hadn't walked out
You imagine unpacking your bags as salt water tears that dissolved into your shirt slid back up into your eyes
In the distance you can hear the music playing backwards as you rock back in forth, unkissing his neck
You want life to be recorded on a VCR, little green and red buttons putting your mind at ease
But then again, you haven't owned a VCR in years

iPad, computer,
VCR.
Television, cell phone,
Movie star.

Clash of clans, minecraft,
COD.
Pokemon halo,
PVP.

Having fun, all day,
Disaster strikes.
Red bar, 0%,
Battery dies.

When Mom died in June of 1991 Dad was rather lost,
like the rest of us. I started writing little letters in
big print so he could read them. He would not talk on
the phone so this was the only way to make contact.
I found out later that he carried them around in his
bib overall pocket and pulled them out from time to time.
Occasionally they would get washed and when Sharon
let me know I would run off another copy and mail it.
It became a means for me to remember the past and help
Dad at the same time. My kids loved to hear stories of
when I was a kid so I would recycle the stories between
the kids and Dad. Now as I read them it is a reminder of
things that have become a little fuzzy over the years,
also a reminder that I need to fill in the gaps of the stories
and leave them for my kids before it is too late. So here it is,
such as it is, if you are interested.

=======================================

    Letter­s to Dad

    Nov. 14, 1991

    Dear Dad,
    Your grandkiddies, as you call them,
    send you a big hug from Idaho. Sara is
    five and in Kindergarten this year and
    doing very well. Kristen is in the forth
    grade and made the Honor Roll list the
    first quarter of the year. We are very
    proud of both of our girls.

    Do you remember when toward late
    afternoon you and I would get in the car
    and “Drive around the block” as you
    always said? We would go up to Cliff’s
    and go east for a mile then down past
    Cleo Mae house and on back home. I
    remember you would stop at the junk
    piles and I would find neat stuff, like
    wheels from old toys, that I could make
    into my toys. I think of those times often.
    It was very enjoyable.

    I will be writing to you in the BIG PRINT
    so you can read it easier.

    It is snowing lightly here today. Supposed
    to be nasty weather for a while.

    Bye for now.

    John

    ——————————————————–

    Dec. 3, 1991

    Dear Dad,

    Just a note to say we love you. I miss very
    much talking to Mom on the phone and
    having you play Red Wing on your harmonica.

    I remember quite often when I was very
    young, 4 or 5, and we would go out to the
    field to change the water or something.
    The sand burrs would be so thick and you
    would pick me up on your back. I would
    put my feet into your back pockets and
    away we would go.

    These are the things childhood memories
    are supposed to be made of. Kristen and
    Sara love to hear the stories about when I
    was a kid and what you and I did
    together. I try with them to build the
    memories that they can tell their kids.
    Thanks Dad for a good childhood.

    Bye for now.
    Kristen and Sara send you a kiss and a
    hug.

    Your son, John

    —————————————————–

    Jan. 12, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    We went to Oregon for Christmas and
    had very good traveling weather. Do you
    remember when you and Mom went with
    us once to Oregon at Christmas and
    there were apples still hanging on the
    tree by the Williams house? We made
    apple pie from the apples that you
    picked. Turned out to be pretty good pie.
    There weren’t any apple on the tree this
    year. I thought of you picking the apples
    and bringing them into the kitchen in
    your hat if I remember right.

    We have had some pretty good times
    together. I was thinking the other day
    about a picture that I took of you about
    12 years ago. It captured you as I will
    always remember you. If I can locate it in
    all the stuff, I would like to get it blown
    up and submit it to the art section at the
    Twin Falls County Fair this year.

    I hope this finds you feeling well. I love
    you Dad. Kristen and Sara send you a
    kiss and a hug.

    Oh yes, I would like for you and Tracy to
    sit down sometime and talk about when
    you were a kid and record it on tape. I
    would like to put your remembrances
    down on paper.

    Bye for now.

    Your son, John

    ———————————————————

    Feb. 11, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    Happy Valentine’s Day!!

    Spring is on the way and soon you will be
    85. Just a spring chicken, right? I hope I
    can get around as well as you do by the
    time I am 85.

    Thanks for the letter. I will keep it for a
    very long time. It is the first letter I have
    received from my Father in 48 years.

    Talked to Ed the other day. He said he
    talked to you on the phone and that you
    were wearing your hearing aids and
    glasses. Great! Mom would be proud of
    you.

    Talked to a guy last week who is
    president of the John Deer tractor group
    here. He invited me to bring my “M”
    John Deer to the County Fair and
    participate in the tractor pull contest.
    Might just do that.

    Well the page is filling up using these big
    letters but if it makes it easier to read it is
    worth it.

    Bye for now Dad, I love you. Pennye,
    Kristen and Sara send their love too.

    Your son, John
    —————————————————-
    April 13, 1992

    Dad

    Though the years have past and you are now
    85, you are still the same as when I was a
    child. The memories of going with you to the
    field, when you were “riding the ditch”,
    surveying in a lateral, loading up the turkeys
    in the old Ford truck and taking them to the
    “Hoppers” - is just as if it were yesterday. I
    think of you playing Red Wing on the harp. I
    remember when during the looong cold
    winters we would play checkers. You would
    always beat me. I learned to play a good game.

    Not much has changed except we are both
    much older now. The values you did not speak
    but lived out in front of me has helped make
    me what I am today. I pray that I will be a
    good example before my children to help them
    on their way through life.

    On your 85th birthday, I want to wish you a
    Happy Birthday and thank you for being my
    Father.

    Love
    John

    April 13, 1992

    ————————————————–

    June 10, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    I hope this finds you well. The Stevens
    family in Twin Falls Idaho is having a
    busy summer. Kristen just finished the
    fourth grade and was on the Honor Roll
    for the entire year. Sara will now be a
    big First Grader next year.

    The other day we went out to eat and
    Kristen had chicken and noodles. She
    said, “This tastes just like Grandma
    Nellie’s noodles.” I hope they can keep
    these memories fresh and remember all
    the good times we had back in Nebraska.
    It is difficult to accept that things have
    changed and will never be the same again.
    We miss the weekly phone calls to Nebraska.

    It is clouding up and we might get rain
    this week. It is very dry around here.
    Some of the canals will be cut off in July.

    Bye for now.

    Your Son John

    Love you Dad. I think of you often.

    —————————————————-

    June 22, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    Hope you had a good “HAPPY PAPPY”
    day. This note is to wish you a late
    “HAPPY PAPPY” day.

    I was thinking the other day about the
    times you would take me roller skating
    out at the fair ground on Sunday
    afternoons. I really enjoyed those times. I
    remember how you could give a little hop
    and skate backwards. For me staying on
    my feet was a challenge.

    Sara will be 6 years old June 29. Seems
    like yesterday when she was born. Time
    has a way of passing very quickly.

    Love you lots Dad. The family sends their
    love too.

    Bye for now.
    John

    —————————————————

    Aug. 11, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    Just a note to let you know that your
    Idaho family love you. It was good to talk
    to you for a minute or two the other day.
    I miss the harmonica playing you would
    do over the phone.

    We are all well even though the place
    was covered with smoke from all the
    forest fires last week. It got a little hard
    on the lungs at times but the smoke has
    moved on now. Probably went over
    Nebraska.

    Talked to brother Ed the other day. He
    had just returned from from Nebraska.
    Ed said you looked good for 85.

    Bye for now.

    John

    —————————————————–

    Sept. 10, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    I am sending a copy of what Mom sent
    me a few years ago of what she
    remembered about growing up. I wish I
    had more. How about sitting down with
    Tracy and Sharon and telling them some
    of the things you remember about
    growing up? They can record it and I will
    put it on paper. I would really like that.

    We are ok here in Idaho. Summer had
    disappeared and it is school time again.
    Kristen is in the 5th grade and Sara is in
    the 1st grade. The family went to the
    County Fair today for the second time.
    One day is enough for me.

    I think of you often and love you Dad.
    Thinking of the good times we had
    together while I was growing up always
    makes me happy. You and Mom raised
    four pretty good kids.
    God Bless you Dad. We love you from
    Idaho.

    Bye for now.

    John

    —————————————————–

    Oct. 11, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    We are fine out in Idaho. We are having
    beautiful fall weather. It has not frozen
    enough to get our tomato plants yet.

    Kristen and Sara are doing very well in
    school. They brought home their mid
    term report cards and are getting A’s
    and a B or two.

    Remember when we would go out in the
    corn field and pick the corn by hand? I
    would drive the tractor and you and Ed
    and Wayne picked the corn and threw it
    in the trailer. You guys kept warm from
    the work and I was freezing on the
    tractor. Before that we used the horses
    named Brownie and - was it Blackie?
    The one that kept getting out up north by
    the ditch was Brownie. He figured out
    how to open the gate.

    I remember the times that you were
    hauling cane or sorghum from the field
    east of Mercers and I would ride behind
    the wagon on my sled.

    I had a very good childhood really.
    Thanks for being my Dad.

    God Bless you Dad. We love you from
    Idaho.

    Bye for now.

    John

    ——————————————————-

    Nov. 10, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    It is snowy here and cold. I have a hole in
    the back of the house I must get sealed up
    to keep the cold out. We are redoing this
    part for the kitchen.

    Kristen and Sara made the Honor Roll
    this quarter in school. Kristen’s teacher
    said he wished he had a whole room full
    of Kristens to teach.

    Sorry the phone connection was so bad
    when I called the other day. It was good
    to here you say “hello hello….” any way.
    Glad you are feeling better.

    Your account in the credit union is about
    $34,000 now.

    I was just thinking back when we were
    cultivating corn with that “crazy wheel
    cultivator”. The one that you drove the
    tractor and I rode on the cultivator and
    used the foot pedals to steer it down the
    rows. I remember sometimes it cleaned
    out some of the corn row. Cultivator
    blight, right? It was kind of hard to keep
    straight. Those were the days.

    I keep remembering little bits of things
    while growing up. Sometime I will put
    them all together for my kids to read
    about the “good ole days”.

    God Bless you Dad. We love you from
    Idaho.

    Bye for now.

    John

    ————————————————
    Dec. 17, 1992

    Dear Dad,

    The snow has fallen and the kids stayed
    home from school today. The wind is now
    blowing so it will begin drifting the road
    shut. Besides that the whole family is sick
    with a cold.

    We are putting together a Christmas gift
    to you but it won’t be ready for
    Christmas. It is something that you can
    watch over and over if you want. So
    Merry Christmas for now.

    Last night was the kids’ school Christmas
    program. Kristen started playing the
    flute this fall and played with a group for
    the first time this week. She did very well
    and I got it on video.

    Time to get this in the mail. Love you
    Dad.
    Bye for now.

    Kristen and Sara send you a kiss and a
    hug.
    Your son, John

    ——————————————————

    Jan. 11, 1993

    Dear Dad,

    We have a lot of snow on the ground
    now. I was telling the family about the
    winter of 49 where the snow covered the
    door and you had to scoop the snow into
    the house to dig a tunnel out then haul
    the snow out through the tunnel. That
    was a 15 foot drift wasn’t it? It sure
    looked big to this 6 year old. Then the
    plane flew over the house for a few days
    until we could get out and signal an OK.
    Those were the days! What I do not
    remember is how you took care of the
    cows and stuff during this time. I
    remember being sick and Wayne took the
    horse and rode into Broadwater to get
    oranges and something else. The big
    white dog we had went along and was hit
    by a car. Wayne had to use a fence post
    to finish him off. I remember feeling very
    sad about the old dog.
    We haven’t had this much snow in 8
    years.

    I trust you are feeling well. Our prayers
    are with you all.
    Bye for now. Love you Dad
    The family send a BIG Hi!!!!

    Your son, John

    —————————————————-

    Feb. 9, 1993

    Dear Dad,

    When the kids go to bed they say “Tell us
    a story about when you were a kid on the
    farm”. So I tell them things that I write
    to you and a LOT that I don’t write to
    you. The other day going to school we
    were talking about one of the first snow
    falls we had this year. I spun the van
    around in circles in the parking lot and
    they thought that was GREAT fun. Then
    I told them about the time that their
    Grandpa cut some circles in the Kelly
    School yard and hit a pole with the back
    fender. Do you remember that? I
    remember Mom bringing it up every now
    and then. Then there was the time you
    got a little close to the guard posts along
    the highway just west of Broadwater and
    ripped the spare tire and bracket off the
    old Jeep. Of course none of US ever did
    anything like that. HA.

    It is good to remember back and tell the
    kids about the things we did “in the old
    days”. They find it hard to believe there
    was no TV and I walked through rattle
    snake country to go to the neighbors to
    play. It WAS a good time for me and I
    had a GOOD Dad to help me grow up.
    Thanks again Dad. You and Mom did a
    very good job on us four kids. Sometimes
    we don’t show it often enough but I for
    one thank you and LOVE you.

    Soon you will have another birthday.
    Before you know it you will be 90. I
    should be so lucky.

    I trust you are feeling well. Our prayers
    are with you all. Bye for now. Love you
    Dad
    The family send a BIG Hi!!!!

    Your son, John

    —————————————————–

    Mar. 9, 1993

    Dear Dad,
    Time has a way of disappearing so
    rapidly. I was going to write you a note
    two weeks ago and now here we are.

    It looks like spring is just about to arrive.
    I am ready for it. I’ll bet you are ready to
    get out side and do something. Do you
    miss not farming? I think often about the
    farm and the things we used to do. The
    kids always ask for stories about being on
    the farm. I tell them about raising a
    garden, rattlesnakes, floods, the BIG
    ONE in 49, anything that comes to mind.

    The family went to Sun Valley about 70
    miles north of here Sat. with Kristen’s
    Girl Scout troop for a day of ice skating.
    Pennye used the VCR and played back
    their falls and no falls. It reminded me of
    the times you would get your old clamp-
    on skates on a cut a figure on the ice. I
    never was very good at it. You could hop
    up and turn around. I couldn’t stay of
    my back side and head. I still have a big
    dent in the back of my head from the last
    time I tried. Nearly killed me. So much
    for that.

    Next month you will have another
    birthday. 86 years! Before you know it
    you will be 90.

    I paid your insurance for another year
    I trust you are feeling well. Our prayers
    are w

O how
I remember you
pretty darling,
my crazy superstar,
making lovely
water bed waves
on the VCR.
But Dear Lover,
that technology's outdated,
we've got to try,
to try something new.

I miss VCR players and Saturday morning cartoons
Star Wars marathons every weekend.
I miss being terrified of the mouldy basement dark
And watching Homestar Runner for hours.
I miss blowing things up in the backyard
And building that tree house, and making ****** movies
On a ****** video camera
With my oldest brother, who in many ways
(such as by blood, and parentage, and legally)
isn’t even my brother at all.

I miss the world the way it used to be,
Before things inside me began to go numb
And other things began to burn like live wires.
I miss the innocence I lost. I miss the cents I lost
To the arcade games and the broken vending machines
To the bullies on the playgrounds
Who even I learned to make excuses for.

I miss the days when a Weezer song
Could fix just about anything at all,
Back when I climbed more trees,
Swung on more swings, ate more candy.
I miss my kidhood, when I thought that
Growing up was going to be just fine.
I miss walking to ****’s for greasy hamburgers.
I miss the way the Space Needle used to
Make me crane my neck to follow its yellow elevators
All the way up to the spinning top.

I miss growing up with you, stuck between Freakmont
And Far East Ballard, going to Archie McPhee’s,
Rubber chickens, refrigerator magnets, hamburger hats,
Bacon soap, Jesus tape, pickle bandaids.
I miss your house that smells like cats
And your wonderful parents, and your too-many brothers.
I miss your kitchen and your living room
And your amazing singing and your air guitar solos.

I don’t want to date you or marry you or *******
But since you started dating that awful girl
Five years ago - FIVE WHOLE YEARS! -
I haven’t seen you all that much.
It wasn’t really a choice, I couldn’t be around her:
She makes you into someone that is not-you.
Someone that is quiet and shy and reserved,
Not loud and strange and outrageous.

I miss you, oldest brother.
I always felt like you understood me in a strange
Sort of distant way. I miss you a lot.
I feel less alone when you’re around.
I hope college changes you, I hope it makes you
Into who you are again. I hope you write more ****** movies
And film them and act in them
And I hope you break up with her
And find someone beautiful who makes you happy,
Who doesn’t make you into not-you.
I miss you, but not the not-you you’ve become.

I miss the first you I ever met,
Too tall, with way too much poofy hair,
And long skinny everything, and thick glasses
And a good sense of humor, and a taste in ****** movies,
Videogames, airsoft guns, horrible puns;
A pyromaniac, a secret fatty, a terrible dancer,
A geeky awkward kid from Tennessee
Who somehow changed everything about me forever.

After drinking a glass of bourbon, Calvin popped a videotape into his VCR and lounging back on his pull-out futon couch, he watched the large television screen crackle, then cleanse, and then brighten with a clear image of his dead wife Marcy playing Mozart's Symphony No. 40 on a baby grand piano. She was sitting straight and tall on a plush leather bench, spreading out her delicate hands in an effortless and graceful motion. Marcy smiled and fluttering her fingers, she pressed down the black and white keys with a deft, light touch; a powerful and full sound burgeoning from the instrument. Her cheeks were sunken like capsized buoys and her lips were pursed together tight. She wore a dark red dress and ballet shoes. Marcy played many chord progressions, swaying left to right, synchronizing her body to the rhythm. Her curly locks of brown hair tumbled down her bare shoulders, and her green eyes were trained intently on the sheet music, as though the notation possessed a hidden map that held clues leading to nirvana. She released her fingers from the keyboard and turning around, she said in a smoky voice, "Baby I'm getting pretty thirsty. Aren't you thirsty? Let's drink some water and I'll play more later, okay?"

Calvin reached over and lifted up the bottle of bourbon from the tabletop and poured more bourbon into his glass. He watched Marcy get up from the bench. Calvin’s arm shook as he drank the bourbon. Marcy stared right into the camera and winked. Calvin cleared his throat and heard a cheerful voice leak out the television speakers, and on cue he synced up his tone and inflection with the voice and said, "Honey you play like an angel, a beautiful angel. You’re so talented and you’re right water sounds great right now. I'll put some ice in your water, would you like that?" Marcy beaming a smile, nodded. She walked towards the camera and closed her palm over the lens.

The television screen blurred with gray pixels and white dots, and then faded into black. Calvin turned off the television with the remote, walked over to the VCR, and popped out the videotape. He stared at the tape and cried in silence, wishing that the video was longer than five minutes, so that he could hold on to a stronger memory of his wife. The tape was a worn plastic rectangle with black spools of footage that were frayed from repeated viewings; 462 times, equating to one year, three months, and five days.

Calvin remembered recording the tape on June 8th 2013, which was the same day that Marcy took her own life with a gun. He felt that the videotape preserved Marcy’s voice, her appearance, her piano playing, but what it didn’t do was reveal her motivation for killing herself. Calvin had searched through his entire apartment and he had not been able to find a suicide letter, which was frustrating and confusing. A letter could have provided him with answers. He wanted to know why she ended her life. Didn’t she care about him? Weren’t they happy together? How was she feeling at the time? These questions couldn’t be answered, but when Calvin watched the videotape, sometimes he felt like Marcy was speaking to him through her piano playing and giving him insight to her thought process. And sometimes he felt that she wasn’t speaking to him at all, and that if he kept watching the videotape, the reason behind Marcy’s suicide would haunt him for the rest of his existence. Calvin put the videotape back into the VCR, turned on the television again, and watched Marcy play the piano.

So, dope  young fellow
With your pretty boy swag.
With your SnapBack on.
Pants so **** low.
Every girl just waiting in line just to give you a blow.
You're royalty around here, but this is still high school.
Taking every girls cherries and jewels.
You think that you're raising the bar but I've seen this before:
Call it VCR.

And then there's me:
Who don't get no ladies.
Because I'm the type of person who actually treats females as actually human beings.
Not toys.
I'll put them before myself.
I care about their joy.
You know what's dead: chivalry.
And it can never be reborn.
Not like Call of Duty: zombies.
Boom, headshot.
But there's another ten coming your way.
Then it gets to the point when you're just blown away.
But I'll be your player 2.
Girl, I'd give up all my perks just for you.

So you guys out there with the pretty boy swag.
Who just zip it all up cuz they think they got  it in the bag.
I'm going to fight.
I'm going to step up for the voices not heard.
Cuz you've drowned them in depression, you've choke them with cruelty, and you've slapped them with sadness.
Unable to act.
Like a flightless bird.
I'll let them out of their cages so they can fly once again.
So you can't weight them down:
Call you Anchormen. Ooo, **** em'

So, pretty boy, nothing close to fantastic.
I just wanna say:
That I know  I'm swagtastic.
S- saving
W- women
A- against
G- guys
T- that
A- abuse
S- sensitive
T- tender
I- innocent
C- companions.

Shorten that: swag.
S- she
W- wants
A- a
G- gentlemen.

So now boy,
Lets just see which one of us got that "Pretty Boy Swag"

Was watching Disney's The Lion King on VHS
Got it from the thrift store for a dollar
When it started up
It was halfway through
That realization made me wonder

Someone somewhere started this movie
But they never finished it
They stopped it
Took it out of their VCR
They never picked it up again
Except to pack it in a box of old forgotten things
I wonder what made them stop it

Was it a child who went to play outside with his friends?
And when he returned
Was he grown with no desire to be a child again?
Did he find a better movie to watch?
Or did he find the movie boring and never bothered with it again?

Was it a Mother watching it while feeding her baby?
Did she leave to get more food?
And while she was out
Did she come across the new and improved DVD player?
Did she find it on sale and thought it must be better than VHS?

Maybe it was an old man reliving an easier day when he was younger
Was it the last movie he watched
Before the paramedics stopped it
And took him away to his final resting place?

Was it his daughter who took it out of the VCR
Placed it carefully in its casing
Put it with all the other VHS tapes she found in an old box
Gave that box to the thrift shop
Where I inevitably found it and brought it home

Why was this VHS forgotten?

My mind resembles something like
a rabid VCR—baring its teeth,
foaming, unapologetic, at the mouth,
rewinding and replaying and repeating
all of the small cuts of two people
I swear I used to know and love.
Rerunning a patchwork reel of the scenes
I can stand to remember—
(which is all of them when I’m feeling
particularly masochistic).
Rhythmic static travels from
top to bottom of my mind’s eye—
a familiar flaw, cracking and popping
as the picture struggles to come clear.
I try to stop it—all of it.
Rip plug from outlet—
throw this snarling archaic beast
against some unsuspecting wall.
But it’s made in the good ol’ US of A
and runs on something
a bit more complicated than
any energy they can send me a bill for.
So I'm stuck
in this cyclical hell,
where there is no fresh air,
and the only oxygen I can get
has to be ****** through
a barely functioning dollar store crazy straw.
And, really, my only anger is directed at Dante
for not including this part
in his little ditty about the Inferno.
I swear I’d take
trying and failing
to escape a river of boiling blood
over whatever it is that causes me
to create a dramatic VCR metaphor
any day.

It all came together so perfectly.
Hormones, technology, and me.

I want to rewind it all.
I'm watching the snow fall out my window and I can't help but daydream about catching it on my tongue all those years ago.
Back when I'd breathe onto windows so I could draw pictures, back when the whole world was my canvas.
It seems the whole world's already been colored in though, like there's no more room left for us dreamers.
I read a poem in junior high asking where dreams go, but now I care more about where the dreamers went.
I want to rewind it all.
Back to when I thought the sky was another world's ocean,
Back before I had ever heard the word stratosphere or had failed a biology test.
I want life to be recorded on a VCR, little green and red buttons putting my mind at ease.
Then again, I haven't owned a VCR in years...

I have been accustomed
to dark hallways
and never quiet homes.
I've spent life hiding
behind masks of people
I hardly even know.
I looked up to the ones
who looked down on me
and not because
I was young and naive and short
but because I had no self worth.

I put my all into people
who gave me back nothing
and lost myself in the process.
The self discovery I should've experienced
was hid away in the dark hallways
and drown out by the sleepless nights.

I've taught myself most things,
like how to tie shoes, and do makeup
but what I cling too dear to myself
is how I learned without being taught
that more often than not
never being shown a way
can make way for an even brighter tomorrow.

I'm not good at a lot
like talking about my feelings
or making room for myself to grow
but I am good at being me
whoever that may be
and even though
I may be lost
inside still dark hallways
and always quiet homes
I have found love
where there was never any at all
I have found hope
when I had never known the meaning
I have found light
inside the dark covers
I'd been hiding under.

rewind.
then press play.

Sheers of shimmering gloss grace her torso.
And I have broken her bones,
imploring that I love her so.
Blueberry lips belly the cold;
hold her too deep, hold her I'm told.

I.

He says Call me Mr. G.
G for Gore, Greed, that Green.
An atypical stoner
with hair wetter than his mouth.
With more ******* than a pound,
he says, With an understanding of
all the suffering in the global delusion
that is the Earth. Mr. G, his name.

Oily brunette, Mr. G., would smoke
Marlboro Green Blend -- menthol --
and spit shot out between stained lips
after each extracurricular exhale.
The saliva would land, tremendously,
and puddles of Rasta shooting stars
would lay, stretching across concrete galaxy.

Hazel eyes invaded and shamed him,
for he wished to be green, like life,
but only envisioned a contradiction:
death (see nature),
for which he learned to embrace, stoically,
like a shepherd of an endangered breed
meant to die among skewed perspective.

II.

This house could be mistaken
for a cinderblock purgatory;
between color and absence of,
eternal and temporary.

A raptor laughter purged the tension --
he abided by no accommodation of civility.
As smoke followed his hyena howl,
the landline lay suddenly of purpose.

Resin raided the clunky, black buttons;
a voice was whispered like a blue phantom:
*******' cheese, pineapple, pepperoni
-- no, extra ******' cheese, extra pep --
Sure, add some more pep with your driver:
he, she -- honestly, man -- they better have
pep-in-their-******-step-you-feel?

Minutes passed like sentient matchbooks
dropping towards a skeletal fire.
G threw the phone across the room
and, like a disenchanted drunk dance,
his words wobbled over each other,
I ordered a 'za, a pizza for the layman.
About thirty, probably thirty-one
minutes, that is.

Passing me the flower-stitched ****,
I ****** in one, maybe two, three,
blasts that I swore
had some sort of nano-insects
bite and burrow into the holes
of my sponge for a throat.

Wringing my rubbery neck,
watching my words leave my toothy cave,
I found out that G doesn't believe in beer.
Believes in souls but not beer,
believes in green men, not beer.

Alcoholic splash is what we all need,
at times. So I told him the obvious,
I'm going to get a case of
(Insert your ****** choice)
and I'll be back as soon as possible.

G stared at me and made a guttural noise,
Do whatcha please, I'll stay here and
protect us from vampires.
You know, blood-suckas.

Pale stoner vampires.


III.

The leather painted door was wide open
like the legs of ominous spider cave,
but the doors of a car
I had never seen before
were as closed as the lips of a VCR.
There's nothing but silence in these situations --
is this one of those situations? Grassy knoll?

Approaching the mouth of purgatory,
I entered with the hesitancy of a lost dog.
On the plastic covered couch,
two people sat atop the invisible cloud
above the patterned fabric
and above the fingers of time.

Blonde hair sprouted from her scalp,
raining down upon vanilla shoulder blades,
her chest a harbor for two pale, freshly mounds,
with crooked, beige diamonds in the center.

She trembled when G said, Meet Steph
-- can I call you Steph, Steph? --
Meet Steph, the artist formerly known as
Stephanie, holding up her licence,
Vanmeter, of 441 1/2 Locust Ave.

That's creepy, huh, Steph? Locust Ave?
Are you something that lives in the ground,
comes up every several years, making noise?
Has this been years in the making?
Are you bound to make noise in my house?

You know this is a house, right?
Whatsa matter, unfamiliar due to ya
living-in-the-*******-ground
or is it because you share a house,
an apartment, Steph? Is it one of those?
Pizza deliveries ain't paying the bills?

G gets up, I, a coward, approaching him
about to say -- Hold up, brother, he says.
Not another move, pulling his hand from
behind her shaking, confused head,
a silver cannon an extension of his arm.

She's here to **** our blood,
She's here to ****. our. blood.
Whether she means to or not,
I know you don't think you want to, Steph,
I know you don't mean to,
But you're here to
drain-us-like-the-Red-Cross.

I tell G that she isn't,
What have you done, G,
You need to let her go
before this gets worse.
That cliche dialogue.
Because these things always do,
cliche or not.

Brother, you don't understand these things
-- It's impossible for a godless man
to understand the mechanisms
of something bigger, something holy --
but you need to listen, G said, You need to --
she tried to move, quickly,
but G grabbed her by her blonde strands,
pulled her back towards the couch,
She swiped at his eye, drawing blood.

There was a pause, a deathly silence,
by the hair, she was rendered motionless,
Oh, no, he echoed, Love, you shouldn't,
You ought not do those things.
Looking at me, he asked me to listen,
Always remember this wasn't your fault.
Sometimes, you can't be in control

Holstering her neck with his gun hand,
G picked her up, slamming her,
head first,
into the drug covered,
resin sprinkled
coffee table.

He dropped on top of her,
Looked at me, Remember, okay?
and beat her head with the **** of the gun,
until the cracking of a larger M&M; shell
muffled towards all eardrums,
maybe even hers.

With blood,
that could be mistaken as war paint,
swimming across his jaw and neck,
and sprinkled on his forehead,
G whispered, You are free,
and I was never sure
who he was talking about.

My feet left before I did,
I was suddenly in my car
with only the ignition
and G's voice registering.
I passed car after car,
pastel metal wagon after
metallic matte creation,
not sure if I ever saw him,
not sure if he ever existed,
if I ever existed.

IV.

Sheers of shimmering gloss grace her torso.
And I have broken her bones,
imploring that I love her so.
Blueberry lips belly the cold;
hold her too deep, hold her I'm told.

Waking up in a cavern darkness,
my dreams disintegrate from my eyes,
swirl in my headspace, evaporating to
heaven knows where.

Scattered pitter-patter
drowns midnight Seattle,
killing and washing away
cluttered, modern filth,
******* carnivorous minds
into hungrier gutters.

This is the part
where the screen of my life reveals:
SIX MONTHS LATER,
in yellow, stenciled letters.
But what it wouldn't say is
how I still feel like I'm dipped
in the ink of Ithaca, NY.

If this were the indulgent
autobiography of my life
it wouldn't say that
the distance doesn't matter,
because that'd be a lie;
I feel like I have only escaped myself.

The rain swells, sounding as
thick as blood, swishing around
the veins of the city.

Stephanie dies every night,
disappearing and reappearing
behind secret doors only she can open.

When she comes to me in sleep,
she is baptized in green, head caved,
Forget-Me-Nots sprouting
between fragmented skull
and select spots of brain soil,
the flowers singing jazz
with a different voice, every time.

One time she spoke.
With blueberry lips that belly cold,
she sounds like my mother:
I am so proud of you, she statically says.
You saved me. Remember.

V.

To be continued.

In this household there’s far too much noise!...your mobile, your pager, your palmtop, your laptop, your desktop, your land-line, your radio, your plasma screen, your mp3, your ***** driver, your GPS, your audio-books, your lawn-mower, your toothbrush, your stereo, your play-station, your VCR, your hairdryer, your podcasts, your DVD player, your digital clock, your analogue clock, your juicer, my *******, your drill...

I rewound the memory
A minds eye film of my heart on fire
One of my favorites to replay

I see it frame by frame
As if I were pressing pause repeatedly
Aflame from friction
I can feel the heat fill the air
The sparks lick my imagination
Surrounding with its love and conviction

I've always been afraid to hit fast forward
Watch my passion swiftly burn and extinguish
Leaving behind my ashen anguish

But this time my feline curiosity gets the best of me and
Suddenly I'm seeing the amber glow
Grow at double speed
Getting brighter and brighter
As the seconds keep accelerating

The warm ember a beacon
Illuminating our kindled future
Proving my worries wrong

Instead of dimming and losing life
My heart will be hotter ignited
Each moment we are together
Beside each other
Alive

Guida & Me drove up to the ***** D
In my whip there was co-pilot Bryx and Captain Sleezy E
We rolled up to my yerp bro Brad D's
Next were greeted by Dino whos drinking a 40
Labatt Blue bonging and ponging like were competing for beer drinking glory
Then its onto asweome fries, saganaki, and telling funny stories
That night was crazy and a definite blast
Woke up the next day to see Dino's Dad's spot and gasp!
Walk into the kitchen to see Grandma Rontondo cooking homemade marinara
Smelling fresher than the lobby inside of a Panera
Next it's downstaris to the "Thunderdome," mindblow is all I can tell ya!
The food was amazing with Uncle D on the grill
Sammy the Bull said "Plastic Cups!" so that was the deal
Party was wild, popping bottles in other words unreal
Zoo was great, conductor swag was for real
Tigers beat the Twins, and that night it was freestyling, speeches, and Labatts on chill
Like the words of Willie Nelson the ***** D stays on my mind
I'll never forget that trip like my brain is a VCR and has the element of rewind!

O Babylon! Your God is a sport-utility vehicle, a VCR, and a two-car garage!
You delight in images of killing and artificially-large-breasted women!
Your arteries are clogged with Big Macs and a thousand pieces of Kentucky-Fried Chicken!
Your God is Technology.  Your God is Progress.

Your skyscrapers rise to the heavens!  Your astronauts fly to the moon!
You clone sheep! alter genes! make a mountain into a parking lot!
Your fields flower!  Your grain-bins groan under the weight of the ripe corn!
But the land of your soul is a desolation.

O God of Henry Ford, the Wright Brothers, and Bill Gates,...
All the nations adore Thee!
(Pretty soon they'll be ordering Papa John pizza by cell phone in New Guinea....)
Your God is Mammon.

After the movies, after the Quarter-pounders-with-cheese, super-size fries, and a large Coke,
after the evening news, the Hostess cupcakes, golf, beers, and swimming 20 laps,
the hunger will be the same as the day you first felt it, O Babylon!
the thirst of the soul, O Babylon!

Inhaling, hushed, from hashed cigars
    my mind implodes in Malimar
        where Naiads bathe in caviar -
            I dream of dwarves and three-eyed tsars.

The captive kiss of Princess Mars
    (who talks in tongues at seminars)
        burns red beyond Her blue boudoir -
            I writhe within Her pale peignoir.

Her Maids gloss lips with cinnabar,
    bedizen cheeks in dusts that mar,
        serve teas beside the reservoir -
            I sip them from a samovar.

Disguised in smoke and lamps of spar
    Her Genies gender gold dinars,
        evoking flames in ginger jars -
            I plea before the Commissar.

At Princess’ neighbourhood bazaar,
    white shadows slip through doors ajar
        to drape my dreams in ash and char -
            I long await the Avatar.

Her Merchants (preening, proud Hussars)
    paint pretty scenes on VCR’s
        while sailing ships to Zanzibar -
            I strum the strings of warped sitars.

Her Prophets sometimes cruise in cars
    else while at each and every bar
        to speak of space and time bizarre -
            I pass my pride for small pourboires.

Her Necromancers trace in tar
    tall tales of wisdom flung afar,
        transported by the Registrars -
            I hitchhike on their handlebars.

Her seers conjure repertoires
    where She and I are on a par
         in infinite surreal memoirs -
             I sometimes sense the void is ours.

My Princess never sees the scars
    cut by Her whispered “au revoirs” -
        I often wake to ask ‘who are
            these Gods that sail the distant stars?’

In bed while you and your little minx snuggle smoosh and snore.
Im usally  ******* outta my mind.
So why not reach for the phone  cause  im tired of a same old
conversation with the floor.

One ring, two rings, four.
Bet she's off  *******  some lucky *******.
Who's this 3423  wait wrong number i knew
my angel wasnt just some cheap *****.

The rooms  running in circles course maybe thats just me.
Hey wonder what tommys up to.
Dude what you so ****** about?
It's  not my fault after you dated my
sister you can light a forrest fire with your ***.

Another shot of Jack okay maybe ten.
And much like like grandpa on ****** .
My ***** thoughts mentally aroused again.

On a quest i called  Rebecca ,Taylor,Mickey,Minnie and
some drag queen named  Tina , or Sue
Baby many  hangovers will probaly not recall my journey
drunk dialing my way back to you.

Spin the  the bottle with next door neighbors  dog.
Watching youtube  such high class watching a monkey
***** a frog.

Alvin and the chipmunks  sure dont sing as good
in *** of boiling water.
Sure was awkward  asking my cousin is it okay
if I date your daughter.

911 i have a emergency im gonna run outta beer  and the VCR
ate my ****.
Help honey im lost  and i feel ive been ***** by Justin Bieber  and
the other children of the corn.

Officer   it's kinda strange to ask for number  he just blew.
Honey  i got fleas and i think  something worse than Bieber fever
I hope this is love for im drunk dialing my way back to you.

Hello who's this  um if you dont know  I'll give ya a guess.
Im the G but not the spot.
But they say after a few drinks and some minor head trauma
im really hot.

Hey Skeeter  if your in bed then who the **** am I callin?
Jesus  , Charlie  Chaplin , Mr Ed,  And that  loveable Stalin.
looks like Ive had to many crystal **** rice crispi treats.
Yeah I know   I should have my own show  on the food channle.
For  all the plump *******  showing them really healthy eats.

Sugar **** my quest   was much like *** with a  normal person
yeah no whips, chains, police chase's   or  romantic music by 2 live crew.
Yes sugar it's no wonder you didnt answer the phone.
Btw I puked under the bed  dont worry it was the neighbors
All while drunk dialing my way back to you.

I often think back to the times before school
Times when I was 3
When my mother would stand in the rain with my big brother
Rain boots and umbrellas keeping them dry
I remember getting scared of the thunder and I'd wake up in a panic, because she wasn't next to me.
She always came back inside,
Tossed a movie into the VCR
And stroked my hair
Promising me it was just God bowling
Celebrating the new angels he's welcomed home
She always mentioned that he was sorry for being so loud, but couldn't contain his excitement.

Now I'm almost finished with school
And it's never phased me, when I dont wake up to her
I don't wake up to her at all
She left.
And I dont think much of the thunderstorms anymore
Its just rain
And I just feel empty and anxious
Petrichor always arrives at my door step
Welcome home petrichor...
Maybe I'll throw a bowling party for you since my mother won't return...

There is an innocence in the first beer of the night.
when the mind is still free to breathe
and the legs free to walk
and the eyes free to see
and the heart beats on its own

As the cap twisted off
and my *** got comfortable in
the chair that knows all to well
how long this hell would last
I knew that the innocence would end fast

Time seems to fly by
while you sit and
do nothing more then
observe it


And I crave that dialog
that swims from my eyes
to my mind, like this secret
symphony played only for me

But you see, everyone sees
the same things that I see or
you see

This symphony has always been
that for all of us
but some of us listlessly rummage
in the darkness that anger breeds

Like seeds tainted with the devils
come it penetrates the hardest of
shells and births the **** we see in
the shadow of societies twisted ties

I’ll never understand why it is that
I am so enamored with watching this
destruction cross my mind but I am
and in the end it will too, end me.


It’s after the second or third beer that you become
cognizant of that candle that’s burning
in the front of your face

It smells like ginger and reminds you of
your grandma’s house for some reason

But everything reminds you of your grandma
when you’re into the bottle deep and wishing
you’d spent more time listening to the words
she tried so hard to give you

You remember the times that she wrote you
letters when you lived in a house with no
cable television, no phone, no VCR, **** there
wasn’t a computer let alone the internet

So forget about Tumblr or Facebook or
emails or any other way to avoid the mutiny that
mankind has become

Walking the plank was real and
no one wanted to be told to take that walk
so everyone acted like men and women
with respectful fingernails and clean socks
that could be seen when pant leg
raised when sitting down for dinner with
your neighbor

I always wondered what she would have done
if she’d been born instead of me
with all these tools
and resources at her disposal

She was a smart cookie for
the time she grew up,
writing poetry on a ledger that
time has forgot

And here I am just waiting for the
garbage man to pick me up
because I never had time to drive over to


her house before or after happy hour
always told her I tried and that’s not
a lie

You see there is a rush hour for drunks
like me

The traffic is stand still and
bitter and you can see the pain in the way
the driver in front of you clenches the steering
wheel, hunched over and ready to drive through
as many cars as he or she has too

Just for that dollar off a drink he or she
is going to drink regardless of the time
or deal they make

And it’s about that time that my right foot
begins to shake because I remember that
I am nervous even when I am three beers into
a black out night.

I’m never safe and you aren’t either
so says the sigh as I finish number three
and order number four

And one more before I hit
the door and cross the street
to buy the party treats for the
rest of this ******* night

Eighteen beers and a pint of
Hemingway.

Eighteen beers and a pint of
Bukowski.

Eighteen beers and a pint of
Celine.

Eighteen beers and a pint of
Wallace.

So I settled my tab and I shook the old man’s
hand who had sat and told me about all the
various things that could break a man

I checked them off one by one in my
head like a baseball card checklist that
at one time was the way I killed time outside
sitting in a summers sun

But now I *** stale cigarettes
and used up ***
to pass the days
as time slowly kills me
inside

The indian with the ***** beard
has my beer and pint on the
counter waiting for me

He sleeps at ease at night
knowing that he’s slowly
killing every drunk that
walks into his seven
eleven

Looking for heaven
looking for salvation
looking for ripe virgins
to sacrifice
for the betterment of a
whiskey night

American terrorists we are
when the dark hits the
tip of our cigarettes and we’re
fine with shutting our minds off to
the plight of everyone’s fight because
we have enough liquor tonight to


ward off the demons that come out to
play when happy hour ends and your
back in the thick of rush hour
The walk from that seven
eleven to
home is lonely
possibly the loneliest
walk you’ll walk
because you are left to think
about what you’re about to
do

See society has tied us up in
it’s restraints, painted us a picture
of wholesomeness that
ends up burning down the white picket
fences and ****** the daughters
while the son’s fail out of school
and end up in a trade
shuffling feet on desert land
dying at the hands of
the real monster
the monster with a real face
and no trace of giving a **** if
the enemy is man or woman
sinner or saint
just another enemy at the gate
trying to take
what ain’t
his

At the door now
you can feel your arm pulse
your ears twitch
your soul scream
you’re about to pour the first drink
fire the first shot
pretend that tonight
one of them won’t be blanks

I’ve retained this habit of keeping the caps of
my bottles next to my drinking area
or inside my pockets

I’m not sure when I began this
habit but it’s ruined a few washers
a few dryers
and at least one ****

At the end of the night there’s a little
graveyard of caps
a drunks Arlington
where you can morn the passing
of one bottle
after another
senseless, this war
you laugh as you keep pulling the
necks of these brown *******
drinking their life’s spirit away
with little remorse for them
or yourself

And that, in the end, will be your
undoing

Traveling around Queensland



You see in October in 2002, Brian Allan went on a trip to Queensland with pipeline, where
The bus came right to Brian's door and there was heaps of picnic food, and there was this lady
Named Janet, who was a bit of a larrikin, and Kelly, who was a very nice lady, and then there was Richard, who tried to steal my book, but, in theory, I never kept it due to my mental breakdown, but that was a fun trip, you see we travelled up to Hervey Bay where we went to a museum aquarium, yeah that was cool, and I took some great pictures of the group I went with
And I really participated in the objects of that museum, and then we went whale watching, and that was really really cool, I also remember, doing a bit of Dolphin watching, and also, I took a photo of myself in the captain's seat, and we had a banquet meal aboard that boat, boy it's like the boat at bateman's bay,, but more exotic, and, I moved all around the boat trying to get pictures of the whales and other things, and yes, this was cool, and, one of the older people on the tour I went on had a crush on me, and I thought, she is way to old for me, but, I wanted to be nice, ok, and then as the boat went over each whale, it went rumpita rumpita rumpita
And all the people on the boat, including myself were walking from deck to deck taking photos, as this was the only time we would see whales on this Queensland coast, and then, yes, the boat trip was finished, and we all went off and went home and then Richard was tired and wanted me to get the milk for breakfast, and I didn't and he stole my writing book, because I was ******* him off, but I wrote a Poem called I don't want to be a stalker, and despite me and Richard wanting the same thing, why can't he ask, why me, and then we all had tea, and went to bed, and the next day, we went to feed the seal, and matey oh this was great and I enjoyed as you hold the piece of fish out and the seal jumps up and grabs the fish, oh this was ever so much fun, and I had 3 Goes, I think, but it could've been more, maybe less, but it was fun, and
I can tell you, the seal was having a great time as well, and I took a few photos of the seal as well as we made a movie about it, but through years and years of my mental breakdown I might have wrecked that, but it was a video anyway, and I haven't got a VCR anymore, anyway, but
I don't think I threw out the photographs on the trip, which is great, and after we left Hervey Bay, we went to the Gold Coast, and all the dreams I had about the Gold Coast, first of all we went to Warner brothers movie world, and mate, I felt like I was in the USA and as I watched the police academy cars,yeah cool, and there were a lot of rides we went on, yeah, I just walked around the theme park, buying things in the movie playground, and buying souvenirs, and talking to some of the tourists, and I spoke to a lot of the people from our trip, as I walked around with Kelly and Steve ambrose, and then at the end of this day at the theme park, a bad
Thing happened in Bali, which was the Bali bombings and Tom and Steve who were my room mates were watching the whole boring news event the whole day, as this was a relax and chill day, me and Steve went for a walk, while Steve wanted to live down here, and said, hey, mate
Have ya got any jobs, going, in a real Australian way, and then the trip leader Joel took us on a walk down to surfers paradise, and I ****** in the water, because fish do it, why can't we, well
This was a real relaxing day, and then they bought our meals in, and if I can remember, it was
Fish and chips, with prawns and so on , well this was ever so tasty, I loved it, and then we went to bed, for the next day was interesting, you see, the next day, we will go to currimbin animal
Sanctuary, where we held snakes, and we looked as bold as the big bold eagle, and there were a lot of wildlife, there and I took a lot of photos there, it was radically awesome, and Queensland is the cleanest state in Australia, the seas are cleaner and green, while no, really disgusting seaweed ever existed and, mate, yeah really clean, after that we headed back to our motel, and we watched the football, Australia won, and Tom was showing is patriotism by standing up with his hand on his chest, to the national anthem, and me and Steve and Kelly
Went for a dip in the pool, and Richard who because I spoke up to him, he really liked the way I was ever so cool, and then we went back to our rooms and waited for our next meal, which was
Home made spaghetti  bolognaise and this was made ya know ever so tasty, and Jason  and Joel cooked it, one *** of it to every room, about 3 in total, and I don't know about other rooms, but my room really loved it, yeah, the best spag boll in the country cooked by Jason and Joel, and
Then after about 2 hours, we went to bed, and the next day, we went home and we stopped over at Coffs Harbour and at night, we bought pizzas, for each of us, and James and Kelly joel and myself were driven home by Joel, and we fell asleep after watching our last nights TV
And we went for a Sydney bypass which meant, in about 6 hours we were all home and that was the end of a great trip, and I went to my play rehearsal for urban dreaming that night, and
Despite my parents saying I will be too tired for that, it was just a watching the other theatre performance that was on, which was cool, man, and I really loved the holiday, for it brought me some happy memories, the end


Sent from my iPad

1.  Your cornflower blue eyes crinkled and laughing, sometimes flashing like the storms you love to chase

2. Your strawberry blond mop that smelled nothing like fruit but instead of sweat and grime, clinging to your brow when you removed that Pepsi baseball cap

3. Easter egg hunts on your birthday, like plastic flowers in melted snow and you up trees and on the roof of grandma's garage

4. Rare compromises that built tree forts or wound up the tire swing until it bounced and whirled its passenger like a spinning top

5. When everything you did, I wanted to do too--whether it was rescuing the princess or flying an X-wing

6. Diddy and Dixie Kong headlocked and tangled in armpits, wrestling for the Super Nintendo controller or for the remote for the VCR until Donkey had enough and made them both watch Barney

7. The laughter of you and your friends from the basement or slipping around the corner, back when I said “Me too” and meant “include me”

8. Games of war crouched behind the couches when the only war you dreamt about was the one in Narnia

9. The cliff in Hawaii over the smoking volcanic ocean water and Mom screaming for you to come down

10. When you push me, like the dominoes you used to line up and watch devotedly as they toppled over, one after the other because sometimes general incivility is the very essence of love.

Capture my ocean side.
Surf my skin like you'd trace
  your fingers on
  VCR tape.

Wrap your hands
  around my neck,
  until I fade to black--
looking into your eyes.

Capture my ocean side.
  It feels like a diamond
is sinking into my chest.

  I want to hit myself,
            repeatedly,
until I can't feel anything
but my blue skin smush
underneath my knuckles.
  My fingernails
      kissing my palms.

Capture my ocean side.
  I cannot face what I have
drawn onto my mirror.
What I found measurable,
  has lost scale, has lost
          purpose,
immensely, breathless.

Rewind the tape
  around my neck.
I'd rather not see through
  the film
    or you.

Capture my ocean side.

Wireshell trash can sweep-brushed
by Fusion, Alero, Chrysler Something.
They’re filled to the brim like sepia-stained
skyscrapers with swivel chairs and water cooler
pow-wows. Boss’ talking fax machines
and projections for the second fiscal quarter,
flipping a stock EKG reading on its ***. We’re
all millionaires. All up like the NYSE at seven o’clock
in our living rooms watching the fireplace
playfully threaten our investments while CNN
sends money through the VCR slot. Cars, no
garbage trucks, cars, cars, scraping hubcaps off
the high sidewalks like beautiful harpsichords.
Neighbors. Suitcases and dresser drawers
packed tight with meat tape, paper towels,
and coffee mugs/fine China make heaped trash bags
seem obsolete. There’s no garbage here.
Downtown’s neon district makes enough
that they could afford a glowsign on every window,
every square inch of every lunch special, gallery opening,
or Salvation Army bell-ringer.

Forget New York,
we're the city that never sleeps.