i don't watch home movies
hate them
reason being because
when i was young
i was looking for a movie
my mother
had recorded for me
and accidentally
put one in the vcr
that i'm not sure
i was supposed to see
i know the obvious response
"uh oh, ****"
sorry to disappoint
they were only marked with dates
  1991
on live television
montel williams asks my father
"how can you just throw
your child away like a piece of trash?"
   1994
i spend so much time
in the emergency room
that my parents stop
penciling in growth marks
on the frame
of my bedroom door
i always thought
it was because they believed
i would never grow out
of this sickness
sometimes i believe
the reason that they
never bought me a dream catcher
was because they never thought
i'd live long enough
to see them come true
   1996
i am eliminated
from a spelling bee
because i didn't know
the 'dad' is silent in 'family'
   2013
before i got into poetry
i used to do standup
none of my jokes were funny
one of the other comics
tells me my skits are dry
sometimes sad
he says "why don't you joke
about something like your family?"
so i say
"i never wore any sunblock
because i didn't want anything
to keep me from my father"
i say "what do you call christmas
without lights or heat?"
before he has a chance
to answer
i say "1997. better yet
why don't you
make like a dad and
leave"
   2014
every time we drive
past the hospital
my mother reminds me
how much it cost to save my life
like she'd rather
have her money back
she doesn't have to say
that sometimes she wishes
it was me who had died
instead of my brother
i can hear it in the way
she says "love you"
sometimes i imagine
that if i were to die
that she
would pick out a casket for a child
because she never loved
the person i became
yesterday i told my father
how close i'd been
to suicide lately
and he said
"that's my boy,
livin on the edge.."
and i can't remember
if i laughed
or cried

Love comes looking for you
When you least expect it
Knocking on your door
Begging you to let it in

Even when you're broken
Love will come, lift you up
Rise your spirits once more
Give you hope in yourself

Maybe you won't believe
But a part of you needs to
Able to feel those emotions
As part of a soul, belonging

You can laugh with love
Just as love will cry with you
For it is a feeling like no other
We all will await, as love comes

Did you know
over 100,000 people
die every year by
careless drivers, slippery stairs,
not following printed directions,
lapses in common sense,

These are common errors we share.

Some of us get lucky,

we evade, we clutch the banister,
we start at step one,
We double check electrical wires,
& carry scissors blade down,
never running.

People die at work all the time,

on the Monday morning drive,
rear ended in traffic on a rainy
Thursday night.

The 9 to 5 can take you,

spirited away at the desk
during a 45 page monthly report,

you get to cell C83
on worksheet 8
and your heart explodes
from stress,

blood vessels burst in
your brain like black cats
on Halloween night
from strain,

All for a gold watch,
a 401 k,

so your wife can smile
and your children can
play in their backyard.

We do it for 48 hours we can
call our own.

5 days of Hell
for two days in Heaven

means the devils
get their dues
and the gods
give yours to you.

Oh, Weekend
Mourn,
How I love thee.

I wake up
when I wake up,
no alarms needed.

Sometimes I shower after
coffee, sometimes after
dinner.

Death leaves me alone
leaves me to my
streaming movies,
old books
and my poetry.

Oh, Weekend
Mourn
How I love thee

No worksheets.
No stress.
No Death.

Until Monday,

everything is fine,

until Death wakes me
with a whisper

"Get up,
It's almost time."

Oh, Weekend
Mourn
How I love thee.

The world I see
Is colored in red.
I know, I'm the monster
Under your bed...

You cry yourself
To sleep every night;
I speak to you,
Each. Word. Filled. With. Ssspite.

I like your flesh,
It's pink and sweet.
I want to bite it off
And taste your meat.

You're a bird in a cage,
That cage isn't mine;
You refuse to leave
Your self behind.

You're a willing puppet,
I'll play the puppeteer's part;
I'll tear open your flesh
And rip out your heart.

I'll torment and torture,
Till your words are stained red.
*Beware! I'm the monster
Under your bed...

His letters scatter loose upon the ground,
She clenches fists despite arthritic hands
that rail against the words she never found.
To spite the golden noose of tarnished bands,
she douses tomes and quick lets loose a flame.
A tendril's curling wisp of past desire
snakes toward the sky. Still the ash of blame
survives the ceremony's futile pyre.
What fire ever burns away the dross
or dulls the tempered edges of we're done?
Yet embers coax; they succor heat not lost
to years they burned together each alone.
The groan of ache sounds low within her hips.
One letter saved, pressed tightly to her lips.