(In some semblance of order)

(1967 to 1975)

kittens
carpet burns
fear
WGN presents “One-Eyed Jacks” starring Marlon Brando
my grandmother’s basement
slaps from my mother
fear
kicks from my father
fear
Nerf basketball
10CC “I'm Not in Love”
fear

(1976 to 1980)

sunny, cool, fall days
the woods on Sundays
tall green grass
raised red seams on a baseball
fear
Tickle Pink wine
the smell of hashish
the buzz of high tension wires
Stroh's beer, pull tab tall boys
the woods at night
the breeze through the car window
her breath in my ear
fear

(1981 to 1988)

“Footloose” starring Kevin Bacon
Michelob Light in bottles
extra spicy guacamole
fear
“Members Only” black jacket
para mutual wagering
*******
4 seam fastball
fear
the garlic taste of Dimethyl Sulfoxide (DMSO)
a 91 mph fastball
Feldene dissolved in Dimethyl Sulfoxide and applied to my skin via a tongue depressor
my 93.5 mph fastball
the roar of the crowd
fear
October
the swirling light and sound of a west Texas freight train at night in fog
Jesus Christ
fear

(1989 to 1999)

the anticipation of child #1
the birth of child #2
6 hours of uninterrupted sleep after child #3
an 8mm obstructed kidney stone
fear
morphine
fear
Vicodin
fear
sunny, cool, fall days
“The Road Less Traveled” by M Scott Peck
hydrocodone
fear
the woods in fall
thunder
******
fear
the woods in winter
the rumble of Niagara Falls
******
fear
Oxycontin
shame
******
fear
“Ruthless Trust” by Brennan Manning
the woods in spring
The Stanley Cup
fear

(2000 to 2004)

detox
nostalgia of my youth
photos of my children as children
hydrocodone
detox
fear
Jose Cuervo silver tequila
sunny, cool, spring days
Major League Baseball opening day
Jose Cuervo Gold tequila
fear
Chinaco Reposado tequila
the stench of pavement
Gran Patron tequila
the heat of pavement
Herradura Anejo tequila
detox
hydrocodone
fear
Marca Negra Mezcal
detox
AA meetings
Oxycontin
fear
Alice in Chains “Down in a Hole”
detox
nostalgia for opiates
fear

(2005 to 2007)

AA meetings
Camel 99's
her infidelity
fear
photos of my children as children
Camel 99's
the sweet, sweet voice of Martin Sexton
AA meetings
shame
regret
fear
Suboxone
regret
shame
fear

(2008 to 2010)

the tenderness of your touch
a king size memory foam mattress
the tenderness of your touch
Amerique Verte Absinthe
fear
discussions with the dead
the tenderness of your touch
Ray Lamontagne “Winter Birds”
the tenderness of your touch
ablution by Amerique Verte Absinthe
fear
visions of the dead
fear
visits from the dead

(2011 to 2014)

their forgiveness
AA meetings
Camel 99's
my inability to sleep
fear
www.hellopoetry.com
the tenderness of your touch
the tenderness of your touch
the tenderness of your touch
the tenderness of your touch
fear
Centenario Reposado tequila
regret
Tramadol in large amounts
regret
thoughts of you leaving me
thoughts of me being left alone
thoughts of you being left alone
regret

nothing
nothing
nothing

the words I have just written

darkness

fear

Clouds cover
the delicate pinks
clear and opalescent
of a blushing sky

Electric light
over avenues
of midnight trees

Wagering
throwing dice

Moving wandering
between themes
of obscure dreams

Passing time
wondering

Waiting
for tender flesh

Barbecued pork

The curve
of a female form.

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Last November I said Time Is Dumb
and you said it sounded poetic and
remembering this made me sick to my stomach
because last November you didn’t wear a watch,
the tick of a clock didn’t sound like a dripping faucet
and each turn of a calendar wasn’t an alarm without a snooze.

We had all of us in front of us for the taking
but we threw ourselves into the wind
which took you to warm arms and me to cool kitchen and bathroom floors
and this started the clocks, which haven’t stopped.

I used to count back to everyday in our demise
and when you asked if I still count I said of course
but a second after I realized I don’t
because it doesn’t matter how many days are behind us
or how many are in front of us
because velocity measures distance over time,
it measures the rate at which an object changes it’s position
and as the seasons have  changed so have we.

We meet in spring and fell in fall,
went on wandering winter walks as snow lightly fell,
in spring we sprung our clocks ahead to meet our end
summer was sliced in separation and sadness,
fall was truth and clocks so fast they broke
winter will be wagering within ourselves
I don’t know what spring will bring besides swimming in distance
and in thoughts of what to do with our time.

There are all these clichés about love and timing
but what if you were not suppose to be
my first love, we both had lessons to learn
you needed to flesh out that surface love and
I needed to rebuild walls before inviting you in.

Times isn’t dumb, we are foolish for letting it control us
but we may have learned this a year too late
for we’ve had our distance and we’ve had our time
and they’ve canceled each other out to create now
and it may be all we have.

The clock has rolled again,
Time for a new year to begin
Time for change to rearrange
Set a path a new filled with plans to do
The year is finally here, the year I can legally buy beer
Kiss my fake I.D goodbye,
No more will I lie to buy
I'm growing, I'm aging, my future I'm wagering, on myself
I can write, I can sing, play guitar and I can tell you of the stars
I can film, I can draw, I can tell jokes to y'all
When it rains I'm out, when you're in, I'm writing with the howling of the wind
When my pack of buffalos decides to roam
Then I'll leave this home
For when they ride I'll be by their side,
As we journey north we cried,
"If we would have stayed in that town we would have aged our hide and died!"

Emperor patriarch enemy family
encyclopedia room flamboyance
and the minions of civilization bow
creviced foreheads etched
with hieroglyphic concentration
pantomiming the harmony of
banana splits dripping
on fireplace slippers
woven into the stories
your neighbors greeted you with
from the other side of the hedge

on the night the great comet arced
into our living rooms
and we kissed oh so
TV-like with the laugh track
clapping in time with the sprinklers
cha cha change the diaper ditty
after supper over done
under the influence
and in a fix
me another martini
extra olives
the smell of negligence
on her creamy pampered thighs
and the aromatic evidence
of lawn mower trim
on her teddy
bareness slipping away into comfort

the children wagering battle
plans with a mouse clicking
crayons left in box
cars matched tickets scratched
windows latched
onto
hobo toxic shock n awe
to see abandominiums
littering lots in crackopolis
virtual and simulated
between the in laws
and the outlaws
the grand apparentless routine
on display

could I borrow a toaster
or waffle with your wife
over the last stick of butter
backdoor banter about
Soldier of fortune
your last subscription
to the mercenary position of
the cul de sac coup d’état
taking place in spinning
class conscious of the fourth
estate third world second
generation first born zero
down home subdivisions
of the disenchanted
evening news is on excuse

that the whole thing is fixed
mortgages futures the lottery
tuition and everybody wins
army navy air force marines
corpses floating cross culture
reference guides to prescription
medication of futile society
Jonesing with the keeping
ups and out of product till
prime time reminds us
why we’re all here

waiting for the aliens
to excavate us.

Unlike Faust, where he gained by wagering his soul for unlimited knowledge,
or Robert Johnson, meeting at midnight, tuning his guitar, becoming the father of blues,
I gave today for tomorrow. Agreed to live in this world
unseen, densely untalented,
in perpetual poverty,
for the sake of a clear conscience.

my conspirator, the Devil, I confused, signed the papers,
consigning me to happiness after I leave this Hell.

Every day of his life spent in evasion,
watching every move of the nation,
In moon glazed eyes, reality sets in,
a tricky situation, enter deathly grin,
He needs the rush, to cure the burn,
He shouts out to the sky,
and as he waits, no answers heard,
to elevate his mind..

The silence never waits, as the victim never asks,
the music of the scdene dies, focus on his mask,
the wagering of life, as breath wears thin,
no time he can place,
where it all begins..

In any future this is instant,
in real life these thoughts once fitted into words by a mind,
fit into the spirit of Christmas in 1984,
I am betting my
cred -- wagering my very defined sould idea
it was the real 1984
eleven days after my first born child…

-if I yet have credit, having spent all my own attention on
finding the evil
lurking somewhere in today, waiting to pounce,
seeking with legendary,
fabulous, monstrous civil strife level pride events
reason to call
provocation to devour
my soul, my unsouldout soul, my held
breath of life,

waiting for this surface to break, patient as any
app attempting to become
Gibsonian ICE!... in your patience you possess…

Ah, cotcha. This quote is from a stream of words -emanating-
in the global pool of streaming
news of bygone days. Dec.23, 1984 on accusing voices…
Satan the idea…
A message:
The people who will experience the fullest meaning of Christmas on Tuesday
are the people who know and feel that there is something
in them that needs to be destroyed.
It is true, as John said (John 3:17), that
"God sent the Son into the world not to condemn the world,
but that the world through him might be saved."
But he saves by destroying.
Like a doctor who amputates a foot full of gangrene or cuts out a cancerous lung.

From <https://www.desiringgod.org/messages/the-son-of-god-appeared-to-destroy-the-works-of-the-devil>

Right. So far. Now. Who whets the edge?
I care less if you guess my name,
stranger,
works; if you find you may entertain a stranger with no sense of pending danger,
see,
afore mentioned cutting,
was mistaken instruction. A missed meaning,
hamartia aitia sort of glitch in the interpretation, privately,
by the muckety mucks,

(by the hair on my chinny chin chin we must shave away the fungus)

The torn flesh
of realities with actual purpose was, intending to repair it self,
using, right, a single stitch.
In a word.
Yet, wait…
Usury found a way to own the story of the act. So,
early autumn, fires raging, smoke obscuring meaningful
right observation of the arrival of Christmas Decorations at Walmart,
in the memorable year,
2020, I heard a sound,
bah trumpa trump trump,
in September,
the one all connected minds shall never remember not
having,
we made up our mind to act on the original anointed mind idea,
let it spread,
like calmin' balm on truly chapped hide.

We all got our differences, 'n' all, viva la

la la la
but we all have right use, too. The idea is not so hard to imagine,
unless you mind is broke, I get stuck in first person,

being broke and woke is a zeitgeistical joke.
We see our neighbors on Hulu,
even in Beijing, if we have the proper world citizen VPN.

Do you hear what I hear? Is this that brat with the drum,
again? Bahtrumpatrumptrump…

merry anointing message, may it trickle through your beard,
and tickle little ears with hope unimagined,
before 2020 made mental time travel so common.

{go tulsi, go, go, go}

Listening to music,
Surround by its majesty
Embracing the beat in my blood
Freely and joyfully chatting
The three of us, friends                          Et tu, Brute?
Wagering the night away
Then amongst chaos,
The anomaly wisps away                       To breathe easy...
And so tension remains
Leaving us alone.
So the spark fires off.
And I ponder upon you...                      It's just you and I
                                                                          I miss you
                                                                          To only stretch out
It doesn't seem right...                            To touch, to tickle
                                                                          Wrap my arms around you
Too much...                                                 Kiss you on the neck
                                                                          To revolve you to me
No.. I can't...                                               And kiss you
                                                                          Let you know I love you
Why must you persist?                          Is that a crime?
                                                                          I miss your touch,
The anguish must stop                           Your ever-loving care
And the silence rules
So without explanation,
I retreat away                                             I love you...
To brood without heart.

Lady-in-waiting paces upstairs.

Wagering hopes.

To speak truth means over looking the fabrication of lies.
I can't say, I can love you better.
Just love you a little kinder.

I can't say, I can love you deeper.
Just a little sweeter and hope the depth of it is felt.

Remember , before me existed another that spoke words of wonder.
So there's no need for me to be that lighting trying to override their thunder.

I can say, I will place you upon a pedestal to cherish.
To the point you'll have no regrets.
Have all the bookies wagering on that aspect.

I'm  getting there. I'm getting to my happy place again. You're still always on my mind, but it's beginning to hurt less. It doesn't feel like there's a gaping hole in me, my chest, my life. It doesn't feel as bad as it used to you anymore when someone brings you up, when something reminds me of you or when I have to go to sleep without you by my side. Life is beginning to go back to the way it was before you ****** around with it .  It's finally as if you were always a distant memory. Soon you'll fade completely. I won't be constantly wagering the "what if's" and "whys" for they will no longer matter. I will simply be focused on the present, for it is a gift I have yet to open .

She imagines us into existence
But is unaware that Her imagination
Is our reality
(Until we accept our mortality)

Then, a benediction.
Stranger, stranger, stranger than fiction!

Their natural habitats vary widely, as they are an adaptable lot:
Sometimes a sufficiently surreptitious booth in a bar on the main stem,
Poring over a gaggle of Racing Forms,
Perhaps a convenient light stanchion
Just inside the track’s main gate,
Maybe even behind some lectern
Fronting some staid, stately stained glass,
But, in any case, a tout is a tout is a tout,
Their dissertations and dissection of speed ratings and other holy text
Promulgated as gospel truth
(Albeit tinged with a sotto voce touch of the disclaimer,
That nothing can shake its author’s faith
As long as the weather is clear,
The pace not too frantic over the opening quarter)
Though the nuances of sacred writ lead prelate and pundit
To come to quite opposite conclusions as to the race’s outcome
(Indeed, the disagreements can become quite heated)
Leaving the wagering public with little more to do
Than clutch sheaves of pari-mutual tickets
Close to their chests in the manner of rosaries,
Knowing that as their favored mount
Makes its way to the paddock for that final time,
It’s all too likely the tote board will flash “INQUIRY”
In grave and portentous typescripts.

basketball in rain
soft as deer as grace

my mind travels tonight
I'm in another place

Starship Enterprise
Galway: Irish space

The beauty of her gentleness
The beauty of her face

                     Ace?

trawling Atlantis, Nantucket bound
      Diotima a mantis, Socratic soul found
             I’d go the whole wide world!
              (which people say is round)

                             Just to find Her!

Stumbling against the will of probability
in the infinite, indefinite, unyielding wait and see.
Wagering the future on a lapse of sanity.
Despite advice, still thinking twice, I brace for what will be.

I think Pascal is correct:
Shallow thinkers focus on the unusual
Deep thinkers on the ordinary

The sheer wonder of the world
Arigato, Mother Mary

You walk around  a room
Deer in an open field

Terms of endearment
The way the hurt is healed

What then of predation?
Terror in the Night

2 outs in the 7th
2 green lights

Walnut Heights, Ohio
My Mr. Spock kite

Dublin to Dublin
Purple, black, and white

                  Insight!

jealousy ponders its self worth
ugly and repetitive
the next phase is mimesis
synthetic fabrics collapse
the space-time diamond lattice
our sporadic garments
now garden themselves
we refrigerate our castles
while the frigid dawn insists
on spinning its web
next to your bed
friends dance in symphonic threads
musical souls and down tempos
our elbows and our noses
pressing a little closer to each other
as i am moving beyond myself
turning into nothing
the hourglass masquerades
and we become two sedated slaves
who increase the treasury of saponification
to be fair the soapiest stations
do provide clean clothes to the drowning
so we disrobed and then dressed ourselves again
in colors borrowed from the rainbow
the favor of the demigods may be wavering
but forever is abiding here and now
as we return each others surreptitious looks
from out the corners of our eyes
that must signify our wish to smother
the forlorn teenagers who are now wagering again
upon race-car drivers swerving around our fallen idols

I'm troubled, but I'm a nice guy
So in America I finish last

But when I finally finish
Much has come to pass

A breaking of the Western Code
The silence of the Mass

Disappearance (Todd not Tod)
The die that has been cast

Atlantic City's only mode
Pascalian badass.

Fr. Greeley insisted
Jesus wasn't humble; he was tough
Help me fight on
Even when I have feelings
That I'm not good enough

And let me call their bluff.

Everybody has coincidences
The psychiatrist said
It's no big deal.  Means nothing.

Maybe. I don't argue.
I take the medicine.
But the 37s.  Not bluffing.

And the names. I gambled.
            Souped up '72.
              Something.

Hosts of commotions
Found in the being resort
Simple drowsiness, to address our recollections
When a sincerity has its guests, is petty worthier...?

Proof in a challenged stare
From another sleepy soul, the tender haste
To a realm of powers so satisfied, for the moment to care
The count if not the court, of how a craving for age...

Looking carefully at the time
A host will share the knowing, the pout of recompense
A waiting heed, to carry the day with a price of trying?
The curiosity of depending for hope, the wishes of us come to ends

But in all respect, the reasons we find for a tally of love
Is a host with complete gestures and figures of need
Salvation's key comes to a vexing box, but the better friendship of us
Is a wagering heat in the skip of day, where a doting guest is a heed

Of commotions lip, the call of decency is a raging hour
With the sense to live in the shade, when patience has a glare
Taken to gall, faking the fall, of consciences so meant to be better
The hour of silence only broken, by a better man's stare

Poor resolve, the pride of kindness...
Sat in a door, with an imagined child, to add the clash of potential
Making the noise of reasons proud and true, a hidden guest
With no justice without the yearning we dote, is a reach for shall

The black implacable Wall of Death
So speaks Harry Chapin

Courage when it comes
Please help me, Blaise Pascal!

I have been to France
I saw Nice and Paris

Been to New Orleans
But never Port Royal

          Wagering!

Blaise and Ms. Pascal
            Betty call me Al
                    Mark, my oldest pal ...

                                Wagering!

I don't want to be famous
But I do want to be read

I fear, I fear the end
Only Silence when I'm dead

Yes, I wish I wish I wish
Wish that we were wed

Pascal alone in France
Ah! the mystic dread

            Wagering.