I'm sorry, man.

For Damon

Words are insufficient, as is prayer,
heartfelt hugs, or pattings on the back,
or lingered gazes, thickening the air
with sympathy. The cavalcade of black
does nothing, nor the Godsman's honeyed words,
nor bitter tears wrung out of you today,
tomorrow, or the next. The days will blur
together, all the colors turn to gray.

But time will pass, and you will know she's gone.
Her face will start to disappear from view,
her voice will fade. And you will carry on;
For better or for worse, it's up to you.
The colors brighten up. The rain feels wetter.
It never goes away, but you get better.


We're here for you, brother. For what it's worth, our thoughts and prayers (where applicable) are with you.

The Deaths of Things

This one's for my dear friend Lauren. Cheers, kiddo; here's to hoping your living situation gets a little less awkward with time.


The Deaths of Things

Failing light, or other deaths like that
are fascinating things to watch, my dear.
Take, for instance, us. What led us here,
what convolutions railed and laid us flat?
Was it the lack of trust? Oh, yes, perhaps
it was your sticky fingers rifling through
my e-mails. Checking my old calls for clues
of fallacy, or fault. And we collapsed
into this feckless heap, this shallow home.
A wreck of things, don't you agree, my dove?
And oh, what lofty heights we set for us;
but heights are high, and love devours love.
Our future could not hold, and we are thus:
The two of us, together, and alone.

On Stuff

(cough) I'm not backlogging. Who said I was backlogging? This sonnet was totally on time.


On Stuff

It's rare, the stuff that gives my spirit rise -
not swaths of light. Those perfect, shining skies
don't work for me. I never caught my breath
on gilded seas, or sunlight's daily death.

Give me instead a girl with patient thighs,
an unrepentant bowl of soup. The warmth
of February frost.  A thunderstorm.

I hear a lot of talk of wondrous sights,
of beauty in this world. The pallid heights
are fallacy. Beauty always dies.

And beauty never cares about you, too.
So why seek beauty? Know what's true to you.
I want a life without too many lies,
a quiet death, and all that it implies.