i just wanna get to know you(r dad)

we wound in stars on old fishing rods;
reeling on promises from days where
the light still brought species, clutter,
schematic belief. you caught three. i
caught nothing, but glimmers of hope.

allusions and reality are often cleft,
though. this truth i'd rather cast,
like myself, over cliff-face. but, i
alone am
mutable in this scheme. you named
yours as blank-faced children, born
to the sea.
predictably, i named mine woe.

fate moves through seasons, sovereign
groups, ways set down to dot. the
object stands;
here lies truth. this is the truth:
pebbles form kiltered circles
under the dock. floating
above the architecture of my
ribs consuming churned
air, i watch me fade. i
discern and too, dilapidate.

you raised yours with colour
in iris. i picked mine up
lovingly-
this woe is
awake and tightly circling.

Point the barrel of your gun
Directly at my head.
I can feel the metal
Still hot from your last victim
I know you mean business
So why don't I get scared?
I just want this to be over.
But no,
That would be too easy for you
You want to watch me continue
To suffer and pine for the old me.
You don't **** me
As that would ruin your fun.
You simply torture me
With the option of death.
But is it a threat or a temptation?
Who am I kidding?
You would never let me die
As if you did
You could not admire what you have destroyed.

flung forward over slick asphalt
six cylinders speeding towards eternity.
your legs, our arms, tossed out the windows
grasping    breezes     raindrops     freedom.

scents of summer storms fill our lungs
drenching us, cleansing us from the pollution of
cluttered basements, chemically-treated arguments
the stale musk of lonesome and striving.

trespassed swingsets launch us into skies, hazy city lights
love born of fading stars and whispered stories
breathless utterances of shared sorrows, griefs-
                                                   Grace­ uncovered in nods and glances
                                                        ­        -clasped hands when words fell short.

barefoot toes urge a hesitating pedal
throwing us faster into our borrowed Kingdom
as fanfare trumpeted from skipping tracks
announced our four-wheeled ballroom blitz.

this automotive palace became our confessional,
our summertime, our refuge, a long-sought embrace.
we were vagabonds, saints, sinners, artists.
                                                        ­                               we were heroes.

washed in waves of sound, our fellowship burgeoned--
souls knit together in a tribal affection
ensconced in a fortress of rubber, glass and steel
steeped in diner coffee, wrapped in warm fragrant incense:
                                                        ­                              *we sampled salvation.

Timing takes away from us
the gold medals of our youth.
From plastic souvenirs that break
to
timeless records without use.
No overstylistic amalgam-
-just black or white to choose.
A safety blanket or mid-life crisis-
what's left of us to lose?

With imagined money
&
imaginary love
what good is "good"
for bargained luck?

- I spoke of dreams I could not see,
could not feel, nor breathe, nor touch.

- I used to feel what I may be,
now I wait around and rust.