Some victims end up in a ditch somewhere
bullet holes in their heads

Others are buried six-feet-deep
in neglected pastures
or end up drawing
a last breath
in a seedy motel room

They become falling stars
their brief bios featured on
crime shows
their sad tales
filling the airwaves
their names forgettable
histories unremarkable
victims whose renown emerges only
from their sudden shocking demise

They become fodder
for the crime junkies...
curious insomniacs
watching docudramas -
america's nightmares
playing out on millions
ot tv screens

You can sense the sheer terror
victims feel...
their eyes flickering in the dark
when someone's hands
silence them
their screams muffled by
dissonant music swelling -
a crescendo of shrieks and sounds
building toward
that awful
final fade

And so I fall again
Into the blackest cycles
The dark patterns
Of dreary steps
Running on auto
Not feeling like I ought to
Piloting the craft through
Though taking many hits to the hull

And perennial pardon ,
Sure as the sun will rise
With the impending dawn,
****** my plaintive passions
Sickening and splintering the dream
One from which I awake with a start
Bloodshot grogginess
My purest art

My father died
from a gun shot wound
to the head

self-inflicted

Don't get all weird about it.

Fathers die
and their passing
though certain
is rarely easy.

So what can I say of this man
so many years
after his emphatic end?

I can say what Whitman said
of Lincoln:
"O Captain, my Captain.
Rise up and hear the bells."

But he will not.

He was ever-present
wise and alert
a boxer in life
a fighter in every way.

And I grew up with the gloves on
quick
elusive
and thanks to him
successful in every ring.  

He died
******* on a lit tobacco stick

Emphysema was gonna
take him down
so he pulled his own trigger
saved his family that way
though that's a longer tale

Therefore
and whereas
this is a belated requiem
for a man I loved.
My Captain.
Dear and departed
these many years
may he rest in peace
as he never rested
in life.

Constellations vaporize,
and cobwebs
littered with suicidal fireflies
intoxicate my mind.

Midnight's fluorescents
blind red eyes,
as I sleepwalk through the clouds
of a whiskey haze.

Blasting heavy metal
while cutting in the shower-
I sink fast
into quicksand, the black hole
of old habits.

The mirror is fogging up;
my reflection
dances in pixelated waves,
and popping pain pills
kills nostalgia.