I step into the night
in wonder at the coming year.
I will wish you inspiration
and warmth if you will allow me
to believe in your creativity.

Oh my god
the wonder of life!

older brothers aren't supposed to die at 35

PINK FLOYD
"Wish You Were Here"

So, so you think you can tell Heaven from Hell,
blue skies from pain.
Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?
And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?
How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found? The same old fears.
Wish you were here.

One thing I rarely mention;

the tumor they removed was benign
and in fact quite simply a “mass”.

I feel it’s loss like a molar removed
my tongue ever probing the hole till it heals,
and even after at it’s ghostly presence.

Pangs in it’s place, my mass I miss you
like a child never born or a dream unrecalled.

Little did I know the offset of my chi,
the placement of my ink, the quenching of
thirst and quelling of hunger centered on you.

One thing I rarely mention
is that I cry when I write.

on my friends list, on my friends

People I knew, people I know;
some talk to me, some don’t.
some I’ll meet, some I won’t.
Some linger out of sight taking
in scents along the neckline
and breathing in stillness
content with presence prefect.
So often I never quite gather
why any came to me or how.
What drew them? Did they
read me, did they not?
Do they care to look as deep
as I will surely make them?
My counsel with they keep?

I try to dream your chi,
find your totem. Perhaps
once we touch again
I will have more of you
to guide the streams.

And for me?

When did touch turn
from grieving into a
soft and sure living?
Your musing I find
may carry me to light

yet you do nothing
to inspire except exist.

I
I blame the muse’s
Words and songs,
the brightness in eyes
and smiles and the way
he becomes lost
in thought, tripping
on words when under
the influence of
spirits with which
I ply him.

II
Coddling
So the Ex says “no,
you didn’t coddle him.”

But the food?

“It’s always nice to be fed
and everyone has to eat,
why eat alone?”

The wine?

“When isn’t wine good?

And making him take
the rest home?

“Weren’t you going
to see your Dad a few days?
food and wine do go bad…”

And the gift?

“It's Christmas?”

I worry you know…
we’re just friends.

“Don’t.
You’ll never be
like you were with me.
Never.”

I’m afraid, my shell
was warm.

III
Turbulance on the plane and the Captain,
he says restrict your getting up but I know
I’ll have to go sometime in these four hours.

So I decide I’ll wait till on of the ladies
get up…only they’re asleep.

My row, we set still and silent. Lady in front
shifts in her seat. The boy behind, bam ba
bambam tap tap tap. I push back. punk.

In the window my reflection, hair cut too
short the night before but after hiding
behind miles of hair, plain and dull – so long –

I walk in and say Zulema! what, what
should we try today!

My hands as I write, nails also short,
clean trimmed and I wonder when and if
will I find a man that looks deep and wants
to hold on and I the same to him.

Maybe some day but right now I’m here
where I need to be, if a little sadly, and
someday will come when it does. only
now I do have to go and the ladies sleep on.

IV
muse
I saw snow
on the tips of mountains,
was warmed
by your laughter lingering
from two days past.