Red sky evenings
I remember them
stretched highway at eight o’clock
over the overpass to watch
there is one last summer night coming out to play
my pace quickens to catch up
traffic flies by this one road boy
who is wandering far from what hecan recognize
adventure must be the same no matter where you are
until I pass by an old train track that divided two kinds
no friends from eitherso I move on
you could hear blades of grass keep a cool breeze in check
slowing down seconds for teenagers of the land
to win toys, steal kisses, and lose ice cream
it is impossible to be this alone
with Carnival noises filling the air
but the lights threaten shadows
the stars show up, crowds filter, I am lost
walking forever on the eve of September
heading back to the red road…

The body was easy to move from the place to the car to the boat. As it always is. Premeditation is kind of my thing. I have done this same routine maybe a hundred times. No, I believe it is a hundred and six times. Yeah, a hundred and six. You know, blondes are my favourite of all the women. Slightly more gullible. Usually more attractive. All of them walking by themselves late at night. Coming from their restaurant shifts, drunken bachelorette parties, or on their way to an ex-boyfriend. Then, I would present myself to these tired, these tipsy, and these texting specimens. Most nights, it is an unlit cigarette in poor lighting that works effortlessly. Cliché I know. Although, there were times I would fake a bleeding lip on this fragile face of mine. It was easy with these ladies the way…

Today, I don’t want to exist.
Tomorrow is fine, but not today.
Today, I don’t deserve anything.
I hate the happiness, I hate the gift ideas.
I hate the attempts to cheer me up from friends and family.
I hate cards, I hate phone calls, I hate the internet.
I hate robbing my stepfather from his day, I’m so damn sorry.
I hate Sundays, I hate barbecues, I hate gatherings and music.
I hate being called something I’m not, stop telling me different.
Stop!!! It only encourages me and I lie to myself again.
I’m not a Dad a son or daughter wishes were still with us.
I’m not a Dad a son or daughter celebrates beating Cancer.
I’m not a Dad a son or daughter begs freed from behind bars.
I’m not even a Dad a son or daughter forgives for his mistakes.

my love for you is like a book with stolen pages
beautiful words erased
deleted lines…replaced
everything’s torn from the very bind
words rewritten that were never mine
an unknown author with a tale of a broken heart
spends his lonely days with nowhere to start
his pen runs dry
there’s nothing more to capture
in this tragic love story without its final chapter

If my trial has ended,
why do your stones still lay at my feet?
My deepest wounds will never heal until their forgotten.
No, always they fester, they ache,
like my broken heart which is bled to near death,
over and over, as I lay in this cold dark place alone.
I had to run from the pitchforks and torches.
Chased away, like a monster…
who once held the hand of a princess.
I still look for her in the moon,
wish for her in my dreams.
Come to me again my love in pardon,
or come to finish me off instead.

took a walk-in summer grass 
picked a blade, made a sound 
the air was country 
wild strawberries sweet 
like lazy cats we lay for hours 
In the filthy hot, in the no time afternoons 
sometimes on the highway to anywhere 
I had never been, now I was 
away from home, but home 
In a holiday dusk 
I remember watching mosquitos dance 
we hid in quiet as the sun went to sleep
while children ran through the tall trees 
like tiny beasts searching for their capture 
there was so much laughter inside my heart 
a new smile I learned to grow 
pure place full of running and joy 
town between the seconds 
I’ll be back again someday