My dad always had a belly
from the back you wouldn’t have thought he was fat
but once he turned around
you noticed he carried boulders in his beer gut
and it made the best pillow a 4-8 year old boy could ask for
I told him that at night before bed
my head on his belly
we used to drink apple tango when we went and walked our dogs together
every weekend morning
Daddy wasn’t a rolling stone
but he was a man of business class transcontinental flights
important Dr. Baxter
he helped with my homework
because his patience ran deeper than most
but he was a volcano of suppressed emotion
one small **** up away from erupting
back when we were kids it was scary for my brothers and me
now we laugh about it
we’re all taller than him now
But I still remember living at the Sheridan for 3 weeks
all of us ganging up on him in the pool
the way he picked us up and tossed us with ease
a 5’6 210 lb man
and I remember all the fights
the last minute flights
me hiding in my bed with my hands covering my ears
him so quiet and rational
my Mum so explosive and passionate
I remember her crying on Christmas eve
when I was sneaking outside for a smoke
I remember anger and numbness
I wrote him a letter once
I never sent it
I remember how friends and family used to tell me how alike we were
how that went from a good thing to a bad thing
I remember meeting his dad for the first time
the other Harry Baxter
and I remember not liking him
I remember when he stole all of our money and left my Dad for a second time
I remember wanting to beat the life out of that old man
I’m still hoping for the chance
I don’t remember the boarding school he went to
or the brothers and sisters he never got to grow up with
or how his mother called me “the boy” until I was old enough to read
I remember being so angry at myself for not being able to be angry enough
but It’s been a while now since all the drama
and I’ve had time to think and cool off
and ******* being a Dad has to be a tough gig
but he was always there for us in some way
maybe not to talk about heartbreak
or life long dreams
but my life has been relatively easy
and I never found myself wanting
He is a strange, quiet man
nobody is harder to shop for
Mum always used to say his hobby was his children
and I get that
I mean, I’m still here
and I think that means he did something right

Let me be your drug
stimulants to raise you up higher than any peak
setting your veins on fire and tickling the bottom of your feet
Let me hone your mind to a fine focused edge
lethal, right?
Let me take your inhibitions and crush them
teach you how to dance
and egg you on to violence
standing up for yourself is just that
depressants? Yeah I've got that covered
make you feel so low the sun light falls short
I've got a book full of lullabies to put you to bed
and I can make those cuts and bruises
feel like loose, easy sunlight
let me alter your perception
DMT, Shrooms, and Lucy
I'll show you a God you forgot to believe in
hallucinations so real they send your nightmares reeling
back into the comfortable dark of closets and bottoms of beds
Love Drug?
I'm an easy E to pop
Molly Molly Molly
Moon rocks
prompts for the closet romantics
and **** machines
light this stick of TNT spliff
and ******* out into the dead air between all things

Poetry taught me ******* myself
poetry taught me why I shouldn’t
poetry taught me that sometimes
a laugh is a whole lot more than a laugh
and poetry helped me get back in touch
with all of my long lost tears
poetry taught me that girls at a party
love a poet
but girls at a party
don’t know a ****** thing about poetry
poetry taught me that that doesn’t matter
I’ve got a **** and we’re all just animals
poetry taught me how to talk to girls
poetry taught me that I’m the type of guy
who strikes out way less on the page
Ermmm… yeah. Do ya like music?
poetry taught me that getting high
results in crashing lows
and it’s the ascent/descent which breeds art
passion comes from the destinations
poetry taught me honesty
and how to make a lie sound truthful
poetry taught me life and death
and made nihilism seem hip
poetry taught me that my Mum is on occasion
a crazy woman
and that my Dad is more like me than I’d like to admit
poetry taught me that that is all okay
poetry taught me how to be okay in the passenger seat
but also when to take the steering wheel by force
poetry taught me how to make the glint of
a neon sign reflected by a broken forty ounce bottle
into a dazzling beam of lunar light
poetry has taught me a lot
and I’m eager to learn

As far as your hopes, I appreciate them dearly,
for indeed, the temperature has been rising.
But, the fact of the matter is that it's the middle of winter.
I can't remember a time in which it's been
so cold.
And simply put, I'm only growing colder.
The spot where we laid in the lawn
has been dusted with snow
and nobody has visited me since you left.
Other's have tried, but, seldom stick around.
My porch grows more vast every day.
The slits between the beams become a reminder of my flaws.
And it is now that I fear
that the only thing that could ever warm me up again
is you.

The morning after
The chirping of birds seems distant
Coals of anger left in my chest
Easy to stoke

But the rage has passed
As has the pang of heart aching sorrow

The morning after is always odd
After misdirected lines
off a tv stand
Surrounded by complicated relationships
And voracious women
That spark no interest in my soul
Just my head

The morning after can be very odd
After screaming matches with god
So one sided
At the far end of IV
Down on the beach
At two am

Feeling somewhere between an atheist
And a lunatic

The only response the roaring crash of the relentless waves

As I beg to be told why this must be my path
Why I wallow through this unwarranted longing

But I suppose what did I expect
Of God's Language

The roar of the ocean
So cold and inhumane
Eternally wise and forever changing

Now I enjoy my oats and coffee
Waiting for my heart to lead me out once again

Allow the media distraction to take hold
Hours of poetry
And Vibrations

Settle Something

The coffee is delicious
And the oats are nutritious
(with the seeds and powders and fruit)

Searching for satiating stimulation
Somewhat consciously endless

But for now
Pleasant

As I dabble with circuits
And fluids
And heat transfer

My form of coping
So strange

To so many

But They simply confound me