I do as I can to avoid drugs
other than those readily
available to me but
tucked away in some sac
Or gland other hidden
wrinkle of the brain.
A perfectly measured dose
triggered by random
but accessible memories,
a passing fragrance
an old photo
a song on the radio
moms cooking
that one shirt.
let those gaps in the brain
be flooded with the
transcendental ambrosia
our flesh has prepared us.
imagine for a moment the passion that must exist, despite everything else, between two lovers – enough so to create a new life. to procreate is to sit at that unfathomable symposium drinking the nectar of the gods.
born violently into a violent world
I will teach them to walk
and give them every part of
me so that one day their
legs and hearts will have
the strength to leave me
behind.
What might that world be like
where the curious monkey
never drank the rotten juice,
or consumed that strange alien fungus,
or took in those thick and billowing
clouds of smoke that emerged from the burning bush.
What might that world be like
where man sought nothing more
to stop the pain
than the works of thine own hands and fortitude.
Where it was never learned nor taught
that we were capable of giving up or giving in.
Where doing anything was better than nothing
and was everything you could ever need.
How those never ending city skylines
might reach out and kiss the heavens.
How the sidewalks littered with the hopeless
might instead be plated in the golden broken dreams
of those who didn’t resent them, but gave purpose to them
through contribution to the greater good.
How our children and our children’s children
would enjoy the shade and bountiful harvest of plentiful jungles
planted by those who walked before.
How the earth and all of its abundance might coexist,
only borrowing from each other with the intent to return with more
than was received.
How so many of those lost souls may have made it to the morning,
just in time for the light of the new day
to wash away those black memories we all have
woven into the organic and gelatinous fibers of
our DNA.
They traveled the open oceans by the light of the stars
and despite my path being laid clear
as though Siri was reading me the turn-by-turn
I feel lost.
Just as a stone thrown from the trail
becomes buried among the thicket.
A slight miscalculation is a critical error
when your dreams lay among the stars.
The answer must be somewhere,
In my children’s smile,
In the bottom of an empty bottle,
under the flashing lights of some
dark and dingy back room,
with a fake name and cheap perfume.
Madness is one hell of a drug.
Where might it be…
that those two exuberant bundles of light
who against the titanic foe of space and time
happened upon each other
In that one fleeting moment that was just wrong.
Who’s magnificent dance was so great
that in it they let slip away the world around,
finding themselves in free fall
delving into darkness, that wondrous light
taken from them in that vacuum
of pleasure and vengeance and heartache.
where might it be…
that those souls are given a chance
in that place where the rest of life dims,
happening upon each other not here,
but in that place where those things which
break our bonds are incomprehensible,
where love that is meant is able.
where that perfect place you find yourself in
is all you will ever need.
where might it be?
We’re like peas in a pod,
with bared teeth
at every unfamiliar sight.
Small only in stature,
with a heart so loving
but willing to fight.
You have helped me through days
even the blind would call dark.
The smiles you bring
when at the squirrels
on the wall you would bark,
have helped me feel warmth
even if only a spark,
to keep this fire burning
when it seemed it to finally be out,
you’re my best friend in the world King,
I can say that without doubt.
Mom says she won’t miss you
That your shedding causes her stress.
I can see her through her bullshit
Without you, she’ll be a mess.
No more scittering nails
against the hard wood floor
The company she doesn’t know she needs
someday won’t be there anymore.
I see your fur turning white now,
your strides no longer abound.
The shade in the grass seems better
than the ball rolling on the ground.
I never want to lose you,
So I’ll pretend you’re never going to end.
But no matter what happens in this life,
King,
you’ll always be my friend.
We walked the streets of some imagined imagined city.
You didn’t hold my hand. You said there was a party down the street.
I told you I didn’t want to go. That if we went we wouldn’t leave together.
You looked me in the eye and told me you didn’t need me anymore. You turned and walked away.
My subconscious knows it now.
Then why is it still so hard for me to accept?
Suburban Youth 