He cups the bowl
With a pocket bible,
Pulls in a few more short gasps,
Trying to fill every last inch
Of the fleshy air sponge in his chest.
He rises up, as his lungs expand,
And puts down the pipe,
Caressing the tiny bible in his hands,
Absentmindedly.

He smiles...
A gray-white rose unfurls from his lips.

He slides the pipe across the table,
I turn it down...
I am only twelve.

"Suit yourself"
He says...
His voice like vaseline on silk...
A hair mussing, makeup smearing,
***** tearing voice.
I think,
'Man, I would **** to have a voice like that.'

"Me...I love the stuff. That's what its all about."
He says.

"That's what what's all about?"
I stammer.

He smiles,
And I shiver involuntarily,
As if waves of cool radiate from that smile.
This guy was a small town demigod,
Mind you.

The coolest car,
The blackest leather jacket.
He was the front man
For a local rock band,
And all the girls wrote his name in their notebooks,
With little hearts, and declarations of their love.

"Life, man, life.
If you like killing, or kissing,
Smoking or *******,
Do it.
If you do you will stay loose.
You stay loose , you be cool.
You be cool, the world is gravy,
You dig?
Life is a custom Mustang
Made just for you.
You got to ride that some of a *****,
Until you run out of gas.
So always take the roads
that lead to things you love,
And forget what the road signs say...
Make your own detours."


Four months later,
He was killed in a car wreck.
He was drinking wild turkey,
While getting road head.
They found a half ounce of grass
In his hip pocket.
The girl walked away with nothing worse
Than a broken arm.
They couldn't repair the red and pink glass shredded mess of his face...
His funeral was closed casket, and I didn't go.

The next day I spent the money I was saving
For a ten speed, on a used, Washburn acoustic guitar.
After all...I already had a set of wheels, that I was born with.
I hopped behind the wheel that day,
And since then, I have lived my life, my way.
I've had enough downs,
To prove my decision making skills are flawed,
But I followed my joy, and the things I love,
And I have no regrets...
Hell, I'm still alive,
And I ain't ran out of gas yet.

Picasso understood
That most beautiful people in the world
Are unfinished

Still in the process of learning all the letters
To spell out their names

Sketches on a canvas
Waiting for the laughter of paint

When she left him
He knew he could never
See her again and left
Her portrait, a wedding gift
Unfinished

Buried it in the rack
Forgot about it for many years

When he found it again
As an old man
His eyes still full of fire
And the green of sassafras
He took her down to finish her
But couldn’t

Something’s he knew
Were meant to be left
Undone

Send a prayer up for the families,
send a prayer up for the lost.
Send a prayer up for your enemies,
your friends, your crazy boss.
Send a prayer up for tomorrow,
for good weather and good health,
send a prayer up for all of these things
that go beyond yourself.