Or soliloquy spoken as if weren't merely to the air
I find the phantom falls short of feelings this morning
I cannot rest on your chest or hold your hand and feel blessed
You're not there
Who would you be today, turning 35?
Totality
Drifting in our unusual, elliptical, haphazard orbits
With barely the slightest respect to consistent speeds— favoring abrupt, disrupting change
Hoping, perhaps, that chaos will cause us to collide
Into each other, into the void, into some greater realm or cause
I question all your circumstances
To a cosmos dealing a hand so cruel
Snapping the cords that frame your connection to the here and now
Forcing a fugue of dissociative strength
that yields the harshest form of lonely
Was that lust for collision or the longing to merge—
such a frowned upon form of destruction?
The urge for a shower of comets to break us
So we could have pieces to glue to the brokenness seen in each other.
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."
Hallelujah
Perhaps thine eyes hath seen the glory of the coming of the lord,
And with the help of fateful Saturn he'll take all that I adored,
He hath draught a fatal liquor brewed from ichor in my heart,
He called Wormwood from the heavens to tear us bitterly apart,
How can I carry on?
Saturn is a stupid bitch
More than halfway through this reckoning return
Anything I've said about the positives I've lied
But then again I lied about the negatives too
And I lied about lessons I did not or did learn
To avoid sharing an inkling of this maelstrom in turn
From the avalanches of empty laughter shuddered to the headwaters of burning tears cried
Phoenix Bartender
This is the first time at least through my own recollection
That my heart burst to pieces despite immense protection
This is the first time that being guarded and unusually forward
That would reveal he held no true intentions untoward
This fact is the one that ravaged my thinking
That I couldn't chalk up to loneliness, jet lags, or drinking
This is another gentle soul whose been shattered
That gave all that he had for how little that mattered
This is what the world does to those who heal and who dream
That the only fitting reward is to have silenced their scream
This wretched fucking curse— "righteous cross to bear"
That cannot ever be justified by his vacant, haunted stare
Film
Passive process
Peculiar sport
"Values are ascribed by the beholder"
Retort
Funny notions
Flimsy whim
The beholder values the ones great as him
Dry ambition
Squadered youth
Does your lens at least garner this simple truth?
Need producers
Just to get by
Then again sometimes men are not known till they die
There are Doers and Sayers
When the barn cats stop killing the mice
You cut back their food to encourage more hunts
Why would one root for the underdog
When being pitied is all the pathetic thing wants?
Squandered away decades of years
With nothing to show for it but crocodile tears
Emotional burden
Sycophant
Surrendered any hope to entice or enchant
Self-respectless
Beta Bitch
Without any helpful solutions to pitch
Solace knowing
Gods above
That one who is pitied is one who never is loved
The Conqueror Worm, Part II
In time, dear instar, you will learn,
the mistake you make when you relate to the worm,
that useless old thing- leaching out pity
The Conqueror Worm- sad, tired, fifty
For though common ground is found now in your feelings
The worm has nothing to show for its dealings
And you have the chance yet to spin your cocoon
To transform yourself, success and growth yet to boon
The worm will compare you to it, but you'll see
That the worm only holds lovers back from their glee
And it finds an enemy in each comment or stare
Unreciprocated, because none of them care
And if you soon make it and you then spread your wings
The worm will latch on, so pathetic it clings
Exclaiming how happy you've found your success
Juxtaposed with how bitter it finds its duress
For this is the way of the worm, don't you see?
The spineless invertebrate loves misery
It is easier than measuring up like a man
Willing to drag the hell in whatever it can.
So often he strikes while the iron is hot
And he gets while the getting is good
Unafraid to take the time to stop and smell the roses
Savoring experiences that life offers in the moment
Yet, too often he is not aware
Does not prepare
Does not care
Resentment of the role of the soul
Afraid the future will swallow him whole
Cycles
Somehow the years spent licking the wounds
Are just one away from the entire damaging span
A time highly-internal
Still experience abounds
Even now there's days I need convincing
Fear it's too good to be true
That there's nothing I could stand to offer someone who has grown as much as you
You don't complete me or make me whole
Instead you embolden my fervorous search for a soul
Learning to build a foundation, not to fill in a hole
Blue eyes run through with such delight
Extremes of wonder in your childish sight
The man I'm sure was not crafted for me
Not wrapped in vapid rose-toned fantasy
You've consistently been there,
And I'll do the same
For another four years
For forever and again
Texas Florida Jersey Boy
I say it every year and every year it continues to be true
I will never need to check the dates that mark the week that I lost you
I feel it coming every time, sorrow deep in all my bones
As the anniversary grows ever-near of the awful things I said
Of the morning when I got the call and knew what would unfold
As I pulled off of DuPont highway and begged that God take me instead
Approaching ever-faster, a day forever marred by grief
And things neither of us can take back; the price that you and I have paid
A day set in a year that I was so resolved to join you
So now I'm nauseous from embarrassment, survivor's guilt, and shame
There has not been a single day where I haven't said your name
Lockdown
I could give it a value, down to dollars and cents.
I could define it down to the seconds of time
The precise amount of physical effort
The number of words willingly exchanged
I could compare the weight it bears with each item and column
Measured against monotonous tasks
It can even be shortened without too much effort
The smallest disruption to precious routines
Or acting in ways outside the confines
...of the narrow scope of acceptable ways
I could tell you the number of passing days
I can spell out quite clearly what will and won't do
And what won't be done for you
The events that are scheduled excluding the guest
Without the slightest notion that one might protest
The things that are the way they are and if you don't like it you can leave
The number of unscheduled visits admonished
The miles driven unbelieved
Perhaps it stands out, so stark and so rigid
Because my love knows no borders but can be just as frigid.
Villanelle in Vertigo
What are the most important thoughts to commit to page if I think I may be dying?
What sentiments should I deliver to the ones that I hold dear?
Expressing my love as conscious thoughts go dim; you can bet that I'll die trying
There's pain but not as much as I would expect, quite obtunded, and no crying
But I know I'm definitely not myself, and that's filling me with fear,
What are the most important thoughts to commit to page if I think I may be dying?
My mind is fuzzy, I'm weighted down, movement is all--process applying,
It took every ounce of effort to dim sudden tinnitus in each ear,
Expressing my love as conscious thoughts go dim; you can bet that I'll die trying
What does an aneurysm feel like leading up? I feel like all my nerves are frying,
And as if my conscious self is somehow aware that my cognition is soon to veer,
What are the most important thoughts to commit to page if I think I may be dying?
Remember not to bury me, this carnal shell is a cage I'm always prying,
And that the truest self you'd call my soul is a foreign stranger here,
Expressing my love as conscious thoughts go dim;
you can bet that I'll die trying,
Try not to judge too harshly a life that was as serene as terrifying,
And my belief that love is truly Life's great frontier,
What are the most important thoughts to commit to page if I think I may be dying?
Expressing my love as conscious thoughts go dim; you can bet that I'll die trying.
The Word is Chron
You'll someday die inside the deadlines
With final thoughts of longing for
Those magic unplanned moments
You cannot accrue or store
Perish in the planning
The time is over, chances gone
Memoirs unwritten– songs unsung
Penciled in for later, with all the dreams undrawn
The Impossible Text
What beautiful and terrible elation it is to remember the birth of the star from which all of your past and future forms through the æons have coalesced. The sorrow of a universe that expands into a great nothingness, spreading itself further and further from anything else and becoming a reluctant defacto God to its constituents. Committing this great and painful act out of the deepest, most beautiful, reverential love for the act of creation and for that which is created. There is no utility in such a revelation, no insight that can be gleaned into a greater good or purpose. No serenity or peace or even fear. It is utterly useless in this superficial prison of existence and yet it is everything I am. To live with a gift that yields neither salvation or destruction. Useless information.
Paraclete
I can tell you this of God—
It is Old, Old, Old,
Older than the best of us could ever hope to fathom
In no small part due to God's purposeful obfuscation
That set an arbitrary limit
On the ideas we could conceive
And let me tell you this of antiquated ancients—
Things so Old, Old, Old,
They skirt by their mistakes, espousing wisdom,
Telling anyone and everyone why things must be this way
To avoid the weight of abject failures
To face themselves and grieve
Jesus wept.
Of all the fatal frames that haunt me
In my restless dreams
You cut deeper than the sirens
That hail the shadow king
Ready to receive the wisdom
Of the birds without a voice
Unloading every precious bullet
If given no other choice
Taste a bit of death by daylight
A beacon burns the evil within
Umbrellas spin in gyromancy
To the Azoth's gracious sin
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