I do not want to think of him.
The brother I once knew.
Born an old man.
He had been more than my father could stand.
Larger than a vat of well stirred anger.
Hope never surrounded him.
Love, seemed a danger.
alive…but his breathing unwell.
I think of him in a past tense.
Like a folklore I should tell.
On a mid summer’s day.
Rare, relinquished thoughts.
Five second memories of my brother.
An abandoned lot that time forgot.
Vanishing back in ’89
Casualties of ’89
A conductor’s timepiece…
A clockwork of technicolor breakdowns
And, races to the finish smeared with red tape
Cheers of holding on, discoveries that came much too late..
Vanishing in ’89
Family values of a primitive kind
No matter how white the snow may currently be
it has no choice to soil itself down
It is in the deficient nature of the beast
Running down in ’89
With no importance of the finish line
Can a new reality be forged
Can we allow tainted walls closer to
Can yesterday beckon a seasoned start
Vanishing and gone… back in ’89
Closer, closer, closer to fine
No matter how secluded those that were dear
No matter how sequestered they appear
Beastly bones are nothing more than a…
Handed down meaningless antique
Vanishing in ’89
I wonder back to the screeching night
where to draw the darkest of fine lines
Be chivalrously autonomic
Being intimately private to true bone
Being in internal love, one but not alone
This old house has seen it all before. The rummaging of angst…The backdoor horrors…
Three crows circling the unkempt gardens, pecking orders for the leftovers.
Descending much like beggars to pennies upon the floor.
This old house…closed for repairs…missing steps in the stairs.
Leaking self depreciating humor…encased in toxic rumor.
This old house…if only you had known sooner.
A foundation built on Christ.
Dining in prayer with the Father and a roll of the dice.
I shall tell you now.
I shall tell you now…
what all these years…
you have missed.
“Nail and frail and lying low. A legacy cast no shadow. For it must have not just shape and form, but contempt for danger…or, it only lay shallow.”
“Occasionally, we have to take care of those who once…took care of us. Often leaving, the participants, stuck between wonder-lust and antiquated mistrust.”
I look and lock down these stairs to the catacombs.
I understand as a stumble, there will never be freedom.
The intertwined pine and oak…lamented before me alludes to a place ‘never to be.’
Hatred and swinging leather belts.
Love mixed with skin pelts.
I write shortly of incidents others have felt.
Thus, I donate my life to disrepair.
To tiled and titled adults without a care.
Tell me now,
how polyester made life light?
Why the campfire of want…became hell?