See Ya Later Pookinator

Quickly

I remember his big boney head on my chest as I watched ER in Ashland wondering if I were an unlovable useless piece of unemployable shit. Maybe so, but he slept on my chest.

I remember when he tore open his nose. We were living in a rented room under a house in SW that had no bathing facilities. He came and culed up in my lap and let me look at the gash.

When I lived in the carrola and wept and the idea of being a large man in his mid twenties living a car, he woke me up in the morning to get me going. Shivering, snot covered and looking for work, his bodily needs organized my thoughts and got me through the day. I ate because he needed to.

His wiggly farty but in my bed after comming home from my honeymoon.

The suicide and fear at the beginning of a long walk in the Ashland hills after a four day bender, turning into games and th eexcitement of being let off the leash and a nap while wind hushed the trees.

Lips taught me regularity as a tool for sanity. He loved me after I quit, he slept deeper with me, and I deeper with him. As he died with his funy tounge sticking out I know he only let himself sleep when I told him it wasn’t his fualt and that I loved him.

See ya later pookinator.

Little Timmy

I hate adulthood. Had I known adulthood is murdering puppies, I don't think I woulda made it past 11. Someday stand with a child while looking in a pet shoppe window. With a thoughtful, aloof and mature air, say with real piercing sincerity, 'little Timmy, when you get old, you'll have to kill all those puppies, because that's what becoming a man litteraly is."

resurection

many were loved
as they slowly extinguished on back porches
wrapped in blankets.

I love my wife
as we set a two minute time limit
once the back door is forced open.
Through the sealed air
to the bathrooms
and unmade bedsides
to grab any pill bottle.

Back at home the internet teaches
us what wonderful ways science has found
to calm the dying human soul.
We watch tv
it's light reflected
the pale twinkle in our dark eyes.

I'm sure ghosts resent our interest in their homes corspe,
but living addled like a cancer patient
is the only way we know how
to cope with freeways and morning commutes.