Conductor

"Bolt from the blue"

what an amusing and misguided misnomer

another way to pass the brunt of blame

through poetic convention

a childish and wrongful claim 

by those not paying attention

but pass the buck often enough as your desperate solution

eventually they all catch on that you risked electrocution 

and no amount of stupid stammering in your  faggot elocution

no crying "bully" like such a pathetic bitch will serve as a last-ditch absolution

to the power that compels you now to get a grip and man the fuck up

or sit to face your awaited execution 

Physical Distraction

It's Indian Summer

at last

the tomatoes are prime!

I delicately search 

'round the thorns in my heart 

to allow the poor thing to soak it in

the sublime

already subsiding to, at best, bittersweet

the godforsaken humidity 

this sweltering heat

the pain from rain

licks like lactic acid, saturating every corpuscle

tethers me tight to existence

making the moving of every muscle

into a memorable moment 

so I'm afraid to move again

Sins of the Father

something I have often thought about—

  and now it appears I'm possessed with enough inertia to strive—

to put the credit down in flowing form—

  while we both are still alive

Dad—

we may go at things at different ways—

  in our time spent leaving separate legacies—

  under the same written name—

and our legacy might—

  at first glance be—

  two altogether different books—

   

but putting aside the bullshit details—

      (because we both can be bullshitters if it gives us some control)

you should rest easy knowing that I'm writing your sequel—

    not one of those blaming—

    bitching—

    and moaning—

 

Tell-All Revisions—

        

  ....and each year takes away more of the defensive derisions—

      ....and respect garnered—

        

      Jesus Christ

       

      ....even accepting decisions,

          

   ....there's just too much in common

   ....and too little divisions 

you know I hate to say it—

   but I can't credit lucky chances—

   or fickle fates—

I'm fucking grateful for the power passed down—

    sometimes honed—

   in one of the only things in myself that I unquestionably value—

   these unshaking foundational personality traits—

some of the strongest weapons in my character—

  are the ones I respect in you—

       even if they're not considered that evolved—

           

             by the busybodies—

  

                    the unhelpful piles of trash in our way—

              

             they can talk their shit till the cows come home—

       actions are what matters to doers like us—

             and sayers always have more dumb shit to say—

"Never Say Never" is the truest credo—

     sickened by these milquetoast motherfuckers giving up at the first sign—

     never working with what's on the plate they were given—

    ungratefully tossing out the tray—

    

             tirelessly picking up the slack from these slackers—

                   ....with our rigged-up contraptions and clever solutions—

Where there's a Fucking Will—

 There's A Way

and alright—

    I’ll admit it—

    I get a little indulgent—

  

a bloodlust for vengeance sometimes gets in our way—

     but who—

     do I ask—

     is always going out of the way—

    for anyone in our circles?

         Or anyone on the street for that matter? 

   THAT'S Who We Are—

         don't let them forget—

so if that gracious behavior is misused—

    or plain disrespected?

God Damn Right that my Gods call for Justice Delivered—

God Damn Right it feels right to make someone pay—

being useless is a privilege of the pathetic and privileged—

    and let it never be said that we weren't both brimming bright with use—

    with a more-than-your-average number of skills under our belts—

          varying and broad—

           ...(seldom mastered)—

     and broad capable shoulders that can shoulder abuse 

though I conserve a bit more of that wrath and that anger—

     it's my last-ditch resort— 

     

     ....and I'm starting to think that it used to be yours'—

   

Man-to-Man— 

   let me tell you—

  that you don't need to worry—

  with wondering if you're thought about when you leave this place behind—

My maximum respect and my love is shown—

   when I take one from your chapter—

           a grateful prayer and nod to you when my blood pumps in my ears—

           when my racing thoughts race to intensive focus—

                 the silence deafening like my birth blizzard's snow—

  

                        the Storm of the Century welcoming—

                        Wednesday's Child—

         

                              Full of Woe

   

                                    trained damn well in all those memorable moments in the woods together—

                             "shoot him now"

                        shaking with excitement in those seconds—

                              something you thought that I forgot?

                 a gasp after the rush of exhaled breath—

                in an immaculately controlled whoosh-whisper—

    only released after all of my essence—

         and wrath—

             and willpower—

    

    ....is discharged in the form that most-deeply describes us

   The Surly—

   Sudenten—

       Michael Joseph—

               and Junior—

"Deliverance dealt in a discordant, yet disciplined, death-bringing blow."