generated inheritance
i wish my heart
was
large enough
to eat
the bloodied pain
you
passed on to me
as love
i wish my heart
was
large enough
to eat
the bloodied pain
you
passed on to me
as love
Am i
Am I intriguing enough?
Am I saying something?
Holding meaning that will provoke your thoughts into depths
never experienced or explored
before
and mundane.
Am I saying everything just the same
as everyone else
My thoughts don’t seem that way
My words can’t seem to articulate
or maybe they do…
The role of disappointment
Disappointed.
Now what? What do I have left to say?
What could be important enough that your eyes
follow the words on this page?
Everything played out as if
Ami.
It’s all a presentation, illuminating the darkness;
even so for measurement of success…
How uniquely and full of weight may
I convey
even my darkest of darkness?
That’s how I will measure
Then. search for comments
I search for meaning how you see me,
see myself
wow
what
a
cluster
fuck
what a load of irony
and catch 22s
and damned if you do’s…
I cling to the page
whether there’s an audience or not.
I just find the worth and your approval
Even though they’re my thoughts,
my words,
my feelings
and my experiences somehow,
I still want you to be the judge
To tell me it’s good enough…
How… I articulate it is worthy of your praises
recognition
and glorification maybe even.
Or do we just glorify our assessment of;
as well just as much?
Dear God, no wonder I can’t sleep.
(Echos of mocking laughter)
Stood in dewy grass for awhile
bare toes digging into coolness
eveyrthing is damp including me
thats alright for just a little while
I dumped all the cars and trucks in a blender
and smeared it on toast.
I drink gasoline instead of cow’s milk,
and I have one green eye and one red eye
no yellow.
No warning.
Just break.
Hope and pray.
grief is smog in my throat.
particulate matter clogs my joints.
i can’t say what i have to say.
i’m stuffed with cotton and lard.
In my favorite photo, you are propped
up on pillows, swallowed by a pale
blue hoodie. Raw timber walls
of the first rustic cabin frame
a view our cove on Chase Lake.
You hated having your picture taken,
you hated being cold, but in this frozen
minute, your eyes sparkle behind
oversized glasses, your hands hug
your first cup of coffee.
I remember how you loved
this rustic cabin tucked under pines,
loved swimming in the lake’s spring-fed
waters. How you would sit on the screen
porch as evening light faded,
listen to the chatter of grandkids
bedded down in the loft. This slice
of sandy ground with its fifty feet
of shoreline was everything a miner’s
daughter from Scranton ever wanted.
People like to trample over me
A quiet stone on their path
I don’t move or crumble
They do bad things and
Cross my boundaries
I walk away silent
Told I’m easy
Wired to freeze
not fight or flight
I consider both sides
Analyze what I learned
Then cut them out my life
strawberry-feta salad held
in a tamper-proof container
a reminder of two summers back
standing day after day in a black hat
and an always-stained green t-shirt
your voice floating through car speakers
during the ten-minute drive home
startling silence when i hang my keys
or booming male voices shouting
words they don’t entirely mean
Scraping up what defines an actual artist
The dried paint on the corner of the table
The stories that grew up like tall weeds from old men on the porch
The music
The spoons
The sounds that drew the neighbors in
The agriculture that planted the notion
Of
The beauty of a farmhand
The beauty of the field
These old men that told stories
That got passed down to other old men’s stories
That got passed down to the children
The folklore of creatures that prowled our backyards
And poked at our curiosities with sticks
A century of books, little simple enrichments that
Came from the land
The time
The sky
It’s buried under the rocks of our youth
Our pain
We are all artists, planted by hands
On the side of the hill
Where puppets dance on our heads and laugher
Ferments in the trees and seeps out
In the hands
of a switch-carrier
That falls to their knees in blood
And begs for a full restart of events
In the eyes of all who saw
What it could have been
And what it has created
Today you’re a princess
Tomorrow you’re Batman
Your ability to transform
Astounds
My favorite kid chameleon
