I guess you’re busy on the
other side of your party, and
that’s oh-kay, ‘cuz there’s
pizza and good company
in the little corner that I’ve taken
for my own, even though it’s
someone’s house that I don’t know
(but her friends are nice, I’ll find
on the walk out in to the rain
out of the party and
towards the newly-fixed car
that of course will fail again)

Well anyway, that dress looks wonderful,
even if the make-up is a
bit too much for me to take. But
who am I to say a word? Forget
about it. Oh, and one other thing
(and Connor said it best):
Happy Birthday darling, we love you
very, very, very, very, very, very, very much.

to write a poem about
your father would be
to assume that the words
i would put down could
change some part of the
fundamental stages of
life or the cold, hard
fact that someone has
disappeared from your life
in the way that you under
stood it and understand
it currently at this very
moment.

this is more
like an anti-poem,
because it is raining today
and your father is dead.

i am sitting in a chair,
thinking idly about what
it would feel like if my
father died,
the way yours did.
a black hole is eating all
of the words that could
be used to describe it.

and when i picture you, or
me,
or anyone, for that matter,
in old reel footage of a sunny
day with the sprinklers in the
lawn and propelling down a slip-
‘n-
slide
with your father there,
safely,
keeping everything safe and warm,
this black hole grows larger.
the words start spiraling towards
the floor.

i fear if i do not stop thinking
about this now it will most likely
swallow me alive like it is
trying to do to you and your entire
family at this very second, jeff.
you must struggle against that tide
and i will help you with any hand
that is possible to give even if
“i’m sorry for your loss” is the
only
dead
replacement
for “grab my hand.”

When the blown radiator is
replaced and the engine is
still spewing green shit
all over the GOd DAMned place,
what’s the next step?

Here’s a good hint:
it has nothing to do with
running the car across town
anyway, like you just did.

I hate math
And scientific method can go to hell
And so can yams and their scaly skin
Which can be poisonous if not cooked right
Just like rhubarb
Which is pretty expensive
But is like best friends with strawberry
They make a nice pie

if you give a man independence
he’s going to buy a motorcycle
he’ll cruise the world for days
perhaps months
then he’s going to want someone
to share it with

if you give a man a woman
he’ll take her with him and they’ll
build shared experience in some of the
craziest places on earth
then he’ll fall in love with her

if you give a man a wife
they’ll fall more in love
and soon they’ll want someone
to make their love a family
and they’ll begin to think about little
ones

if you give a man a child
he’ll ball his eyes out at first
glimpse of the miracle he helped
to produce and love it watch it grow
until it can run around and eat on it’s
own then he’ll want some more

if you give a man a family
he’s going to become addicted
to being a father and husband
and find a satisfaction in life he
never knew. but then one night
he’ll be sharing a beer with a single
friend who owns a motorcycle
and he’ll begin thinking

i wonder what it would be like
to have independence?

would you eat something
if it sounded delicious

or sing something
if tasted of a solid crescendo?

i know i would
i’d rock the hell out of that
hotdog

I don’t use your nomenclature
so pay close attention while
the system that you’ve grown
in to is
dashed upon the metaphoric rocks
that ever hover oh-so-near the
metaphoric ship that the lot of us
ride

I’ve got the life preserves, prepared
emergency lines so we can
drag you back if you’re caught
in the tide, but first you
have to
grab on.

i slipped into the waterfall
baptized myself in the crystal
water
begged i could return
again and bask
in purity

It may be awful
lonely sitting here
all night alone

But

New steel on the
six string make the
time alone pass
that much more
wonderfully.

the power went out
and for twenty whole minutes
we faced the thought of no
computers
internet
or even the ability to read
in our candleless
flashlightless
preparedless
world of electricity
and i was shocked
at how dark dark gets

i thought it poetic
but don’t own a non-electric
way to express what i thought

soggy and large
with determination snowflakes
surprised us
falling
before
the leaves.

blatant overthrowage
of something like power
(though much more at peace with the minions)
you realized
with one more tool
you too could conquer the world

with your words

guppies are just like fish
but smaller
and your hand in mine
just like mine
though i’m taller and
you’re softer

but thoughts like these
are not more quiet
or more gentle
against the skin
inside my head
pressing to my skull

telling me that this design
is flawed from some ancient
ancestor

who was smaller
just like me
but smarter
and made mistakes much
bigger

It’s been a month
since the boys back home stopped
writing.

A god damned shame,
since all those boys back home
were god damned good at
writing

Maybe the post is slow this season,
for some reason.
Maybe nobody’s home this season,
for some reason.
Maybe, though
(just maybe, though),
the boys back home just
got sick of
writing.

A god damn shame,
since all those boys back home
were god damned good at
writing

.

We’ve contemplated many
variations on the same theme
theame
theeem
theim
thematic expressions, perhaps by
eye contact, or skin brushing on
skin passing just near enough to
feel each-other’s skin

The passing comments, too, help
when contemplating jointly. Could
we communicate? do we communi
cate? Have we communicate(d)?
Should we, all things considered (
and all things have been), commu
nicate? Does all this broken spee
ch make things hard to follow fo
r you? I know it does for m
e.

There’s nothing quite like the realization
That you have nothing left to say
That there isn’t anything left to say
Or never will be said.
But the only remaining option
Is to reconcile my capacity for edification
Though your fragile resplendence

i seek you for 20 minutes
and my soul is sucked
from me like a dementor’s
kiss