poetry?

brother,  your woman is costing you the wealth of your people, good people, who loved you when she didn’t, before she was is and always will be.

scrubbing you free of the imperfections of life, the beauty of our uniqueness.

because of her discomfort of our fit into the perfection of your union and the challenge we present to your status quo.

in other words, all that was the soil of your growth, sustenance of the spirit that flew and soared and sang to everyone around you.

will we hear from you again? or is it what it is? is it? it is?

i mean, i get it.  i have built a nest and populated it with eggs and spouses as well.  and shit gets tough, trying to live high on the tree when your folks seem to be all over the field. so far away.  so far from who you used to be.

but we’re still here.  not so present, but still waiting for you and the music…

something must be wrong with me.

two doesn’t equal two,

and soft isn’t gentle;

isn’t care;

isn’t love.

anger, like smoke,

captures joy in a chokehold.

get out of my head

i’m tired of caring

i want to be rich

and have expensive things

and not feel guilty

for spending on me

nonprofits are dumb

sometimes it jumps out of me like lightning,

cutting through

with words sharper than razorblades

and a hand heavier than barbells.

the fury of a hailstorm

for a molehill.

i am guilty.

i sow seeds of anger in fresh soil.

ancient debts of disgruntled ancestors

who never got high enough to think different.

is this the memory i want them to have?

not trusting their voice because mine was always louder.

like his was louder than mine.

like hers was louder than his.

generations of failing ourselves and our futures,

because we were stuck in defaults

that were created for us

before we were even conceived.

i am guilty.

perpetuating this sin

against him

because i hear him in him

being unreasonable. being impatient.

backing me into corners i thought i’ve long since left.

me failing time and again.

three sometimes four

tangled up in the blanket

a mess of snoring bodies

pressed up against the cold wall

or half off the mattress and half on the floor

with a 2foot tall imp

horizontal between us

sleeping smiles  and whining voices

babies waking in darkness

saying ’sweep with mommy’

me begging to go pee

then trying to remember the alien story

waking just before everyone else

a moment to catch a rythm

quietly getting out of bed but
little turtle heads pop out of the covers

the good morning song

diapers times 2;

22 months difference but both size 6

“chereal”

watch “choo choo train”

then again for the routine morning pooper

so simple these days

the messages come fast

harsh slams against the wall

my ego in tow behind it

a ragdoll to its power

assaulted by the sound

overcome by its force

biological reactions

memories of years past

revelling

like a waltz in slow motion

how fast its all gone

how little has been done

how far still to go

allusions to something lost

that was never won:

A heart was broken before it begun.

For the tin man,

life was about mechanics,

functions of other beings’ gravitas,

never his own.

Couldn’t walk or talk

or set his own way.

Didn’t know where to go

or who to ask.

adrift on two working legs

and no wind in his sail.