Ninety-Days

90 days, before I came,
the mend is long and hard now I’m done here.
I don’t remember the sun hidden in this shade
days and days… blur in a straight line.
Muscles tense and the fire in me doused by the indifference of all those I left behind.
The longest three days, followed by a brokenness that couldn’t be believed.
Staring out the window waiting for god to feel relief.
45 years, flashback to tears,
that lonely dusk in a city waiting with promise.
My time machine in the shop.

The high road looked so good from here,
but its all that I feared, and when I woke it passed my line of sight.
I wondered why I had to see you in my dreams again
unforgiving in time, one that came and went
I held on, briefly paused
Realized this dream is a lost cause.

What should I do now that my trial is up?
New ventures ahead instead of dead ends.
A heartbeat when I thought I was gone.
The road that goes on and on.

Sinking

I’ll kill you with the last bite,
ejected from my stomach with forced might,
just so you could let me down easily
…it never does get easier from here.

I can’t take this anymore
but wait, I’ve said that a hundred times before.
Will this be the last time? (laughter abound)
I won’t be here to find out (heaving sound)
Killed by hindsight,
the pain of repetive spilled guts,
another lost fight.
A street corner, toiling for a warm drink,
Out of body, lost control,
or the rational ability to think.

Prepared to sink with this ship,
I’ll wait here til the next go around
Onlookers gawk at the final trip
those who knew watch me drown.

The view from the outside
worse with each blow.
The gutteral churn of a real-life,
B-rate horror show.

Transient

I can be a transient lover to you.
Stability, security, override what you feel.
Eventually my act gets tired.
Songs embellished in your name,
I don’t know what’s real.
Forgiveness is.
I owe myself a few more mulligans.
Nothing rhymes with mulligan.
Except restarting.
Not really.

I don’t blame you for wanting out.
Happiness is a dollar sign, no time
for silly thoughts, these words of mine.
McCartney was right all along.
No amount of prose can replace structure,
fidelity, coarse in the hourglass.
Rubbing you, those last sloppy moments in bed.
Sand stuck in your bathing suit.
“Fuck me” still hanging in the air over my head.
It felt so dirty to be with you.
Transient love spent.
My well-meaning “goodbye” sent.

What the Room looks like When you Leave

Someday you’ll understand.
Maybe I don’t.
I just know when you leave, I’m always back where I started.
The dim lights, shadows and creeping in the corners of the room,
always waiting & wanting.
The sunshine relents.

My boys look so innocent in this pose,
and I can’t replace the feelings of those close.
We’re all ghosts.

Someday you’ll understand– all the booze and loose women, no critics to laugh at you, you bonehead.
Just the sound of your own voice.
Laughter as medicine, haha, but that’s a joke.
That’s what life looked like, out the window and friends you had are ghosts too- in dreams, at the grocery store, maybe even that bar down the street.

But I don’t drink anymore, I don’t leave with strangers and I simply am no fun.
Someday you’ll understand.

One more seizure, one more pulse;
I am electric.
All my memories of this time
will dissolve into thin air…

They never quite disappear.