And the visions
that once inspired
his mind
all died
in the killing fields
of his eyes.

I try to do little things for myself,
Take a few liberties to try and break through the barrier between being alive and living my life.
I read books and take walks, I have beers and write poems.
    I enjoy those things but sometimes its not enough to break through that barrier. Sometimes I'm just here. My first weekend back home my brother took us tubing on the lake. Its kind of weird to think but sometimes that's what life feels like. Like everyone's on a boat and I'm behind it on a raft holding on for dear life. Mostly I'm good though, I always enjoyed tubing.

1.
salt-caked fingers
peel each other

2.
slimy tongue
toils in vain

3.
soft lips
metal beneath teeth

4.
barbaric generator
clears its throat

5.
on these beaten blue windings
sun keens

Do you still chase sunsets like we used to?
Do they hit the same?
Or did truly everything get old?

Lately I prefer the sunrise, and the clean slate they offer.
They feel full of the calm I crave so starvingly.
So full of beauty, so full of potential for good things.

How did it feel,
Your second wind,
Your heartfelt final effort?

When I try to look back,
It all feels like a drunken stupor.

How you started so brightly,
With visions of delusional grandeur,

How the path seemed only to lead up,
Into the hills,

It seemed easy to get lost in those ups and downs,
The moon hung like a silver dollar at the end of the path,
Forever and always,

Before we knew it the coast had claimed us,

Swept from our foothold in the hills we clung to each other tightly,
As each tidal wave crested our mouths and our eyes stung with the anger of the ocean,


Our lungs burning to breathe,

You broke from my grasp,
At first I would scramble to regain it,

Soon to realize it was your will,
And it could not be undone,

I bobbed lonely and sunbaked on the open sea for countless days,

I had all the time I needed to think the thoughts I always pushed away,

As I lay baking,

How dark, and quietly you ended,
Not many to bear witness,

How long and cold your warm summers were,
To look back on after wiping the lenses clear.