Surreality.

Every day I see people who knew you in life, sometimes running into them for the first time in decades; and, they inevitably ask about you as if they expect to find out that you’ve moved away to Canada, like you always threatened to do. The news of your short battle and premature death unfailingly drops jaws all the way around, and I regularly find myself in the position of having to firmly convince someone that you are dead and gone: a highly dissatisfying instance for me.
At least once a month I see a dress or a couch or a set of dishes that oozes your still lingering essence, and this essence permeates my existence for some time – maybe an hour; maybe a day…and as much as it stirs the burn of the embers inside the firepit called Pain, I greedily and secretly lean into the heat because it’s the only way I feel like I still know my Mom. Like I still have my Mom.
Every single night I walk my dog down the street your house is on. Although somebody else lives there and its appearance has been drastically altered since you died, I sometimes see your faint ghost on the front porch doing a crossword puzzle. I see your ghost watering the lawn too, or occasionally it even excitedly waves a hand at me from across Camden Avenue in the darkness.
I catch myself more frequently spitting out random statements and sayings that were always unique to you, alone.
Things like,

“In like Flynn.”

Or I sing stupid bits if stupid songs like,

“Here we come,
on the run,
like a hamburger on a bun.”
Or,
“Jonathan Joe had a mouth like an O”

I know its really you speaking in my voice, but I wonder what any of it means.

I often thank the Gods that you and I were able to at least scratch the surface of our reciprocal amendments to each other before you died so horribly fast and miserably. I’m continually thankful that I was able to thoroughly explain myself to you after all was said and done between us, but before your brain got so full of metastatic tumors that you were unable to comprehend me. I’m ever thankful that your passing wasn’t during any of our many former years apart, and that I was there to hold your hand when you asked me to be, because I can vividly remember that you were afraid, truly afraid. You never lost face though, you remain a bonebreakingly strong idol of my candlelit shrine. And no matter what else life throws at me, I will meet my last day on Earth with your smile on my face and your strength in my bloodstream. And, while your death killed off parts of me and stole any comfort I knew in the big, bad world, I haven’t let it burden me.
Though, I still bitterly wish we could have had Christmas in Sutter Creek, but it wasn’t meant to be.
Every single day passes with a strangling sense of your absence. And some days, I find you staring back at me from a mirror or the reflection from a storefront window as I pass. The tiniest and subtlest bits of your essence still trickle from the hole that losing you that way has left in my heart.

Go On.

Scratch every single thing
That ever held meaning
Swipe away the empty words
All Ive said and all Ive heard
Make it rain with truthfulness
Wash the stain of uselessness
I dont need the toxic lies
The well concealed goodbyes
Its all a joke told cruelly
Behind the trusting back of me
Just go on and get in line
And take your place in kind
Youre all the sorry same
Point fingers and place blame
In the face of reality
Incapable of solidity
Its like a giant oozing wound
Stitches opened far too soon
Im alone in the responsibility
Of letting mutants close to me
Days and nights between
The lies fed forcefully
I vomit each and every breath
Until nothingness is all thats left
Go on.
Go live your life.

Grandeur.

I have been,
listening…

and hearing you…
your every cent or two,
every jerking move,
and yet you prove…
to somehow be,
totally and completely,
shocked to find…
blackened faces,
fill up the spaces,
between the lines…
Hello, big guy!
I will be fair,
I won’t deny,
through my grandeur…
what did,
indeed,

appear and seem,
to be,
a valiant try…

for your part,
at least
but, then again,
surprise!

Nonplussed…
it’s still just,
without compromise,
and really shouldn’t be,
such a novel thing,
that I’m not listening,
after so much,
of the go and touch…
the itchy sting,
ear-ringing,

fucking redundancy…
see the burning,
behind my eyes,
see the hatred,
memorized…

please just let me be.
As, so it goes that,
eyes like mine,
chiseled by,
the passing time…

are not destined to see.

Grandeur.

I have been listening
and hearing you
your every cent or two
every jerking move
and yet you prove
to somehow be
totally and completely
shocked to find
blackened faces
fill up the spaces
between the lines
Hello, big guy
I will be fair
I won’t deny
through such grandeur
what did indeed
appear and seemed
a valiant try
for your part
at least
but, then,surprise…
It’s still just me
without compromise
and shouldn’t be
such a novel thing
that I’m no Lady
after so much
of the go and touch
fucking redundancy
see the burning
behind my eyes
please just let me be
so it goes that
eyes like mine
are not destined to see.