Hey there, Psyche. Damn, I know it’s been forever
Decades passed in silence, then only a shitty letter
Though they say an asshole never really recovers
This ass hopes you found far better friends and lovers
Whisky brown hair, brilliant smile, the fairest blue eyes
Sharper and brighter than all the stars in Southern skies
Just one second, this ain't one of them pining love songs
More a long-waiting tattered lists of souls I’ve done wrong
One bad night, drunkenly convinced I’d been strung along
I became another toxic creep, another entitled hard-on
Flashes of trembling hands, tears took up shop in my head
But I blacked out enough to not remember what all I said
When really you needed a best friend, not a jealous loser
Instead, I walked away, wanting only to not exist to you
It’s been years since then, paid in therapy reckonings
Took a while to learn, romance starts by looking within
But still, what’s worse, digging up the past or living lies
What hurts, late-offered amends or broken goodbyes
For a victim, how long makes it too late to apologize?
Male-privileged obsession is just intimidation in disguise
So, years later, here’s the truth that only matters now
The important thing I hope I one day get to say to you
If allowed, I have random chance and courage to do
Psyche, you deserved better than I ever gave to you
My selfish words and actions burned our bridges
There aren’t any good reasons you should forgive
’Sides, justifying turns into gaslighting before long
I’ll move along, just sorry that I hurt you. I was wrong
8.20.20 - Pandemic Sonnet #1
Hot rain pounded on square, concrete tombs
Our opinions overrode data, famous last words
For single-pained souls across a gasping globe
In empty classrooms, ghosts talked to screens
Smiled and pretended that everything was clean
Science toiled cures, scrubs-clad martyrs screamed
Scholars silenced, pleaded safety not guaranteed
Wise words twisted, gathering dust on toxic pulpits
Whilst pious, fat hypocrites proudly flouted lessons writ
In their treasured, leatherbound, ancient moral scripts
Pride becameth Fall for faithless worshipping a Con’s greed
Falsely-winged devout demanded sacrifice, so blinded
They offered up children to a righteous Death Cult idol
Blame for self-evident sins falls upon poisoned, Holy men
*notes and such
Two lines I liked but couldn’t figure out how to tweak and use. I still think this needs some re-arranging, but it needs to get out of my head for a while.
Omens in six-foot deep ends justified by green means
Foreshadowed in testing, autopsies backdated two weeks,
7.1.20 - Pandemic Poetry #2
We all scare, a little, here
Crowded, breadcrumb beds
That sound, light, or touch
Would drown tearful fears
This pain that clings to us
Memories on a slow burn
Hollowed out the dreams
Years repeat in night’s sleep
I make my last rounds during the witching hours
Check the locks, tiptoe past all my sleeping wards
Still, toiling away during the quiet night creeps
While in the bedroom shows stream in hopes of
Crowding out their darkest remembered dreams
They breathe slowly and softly cry out in the dark
One last race before I lay down my worried head
Dreaming of apex turns instead of counting sheep
5.4.20 - #coronavirus2020 VIII
I miss my wife. I hate it when she’s gone.
Sounds like the lines of a country-western song.
She’s on the road with the girl, again. I’m alone
On the couch, eating feelings and worrying about
All that might go wrong. Even the dog is gone.
Before she left, she hugged me tight and whispered,
“I promise to keep this marriage safe.”
Even though I don’t want to, I wonder,
The inner demons start to play
I worry that she’d rather be in other company
Though she’s the one who begged me to stay.
I want to believe her so bad, I need to
What other choice do I have?
I love her, let her lie, let her go, live a lie?
We hope for something better to grow
Dressed the wounds and sank down below
Layers of sheets and tree, fog and breeze
Even if it hurts, even if it’s the worst outcome
Of a million ways I can see our story going
At least for me, it was worth it to know
Love deep enough to get hurt, live through it
Do no wrong, try to pass no judgment
Tell them you love them, though the hurt shows
Be a better man, do the best you can
Let them know you love them, every time they go.
Anyone else scared out of their mind about how bad it’s gonna be by June? Asian killer bees, a likely explosion of pandemic cases in Georgia. People out like everything’s fine, not wearing masks. In a few weeks… Jesus. It worries me. Seems like the worst possible sci-fi plot.
I think my money is now on “Rushed Vaccine Causes Zombification,” at this point. Or we go to war with China over the lie of who manufactured the virus? That puts the Red Dawn scenario at play. But I’m lucky, able to arm-chair speculate from the relative safety of a back porch. Crickets are in the background. Some people aren’t so lucky. The virus is ravaging minorities at a savagely disproportionate rate, evidence of a medical system in need of desperate and complete reform.
Maybe it’s the fatalist in me, but I’m trying to make sure I tell my family I love them. Even when things hurt. Even when they hurt.
4.19.20 - #corona2020 VII
A bed under my head, a roof o’er my feet
Cold fear, a fine mist o’er empty streets
Alone, grieving in stained pajama sheets
Wondering if the end it was a virus that led
To a half-remembered phrase, prophecy
Worn couches masquerade as deathbeds
Lives spent streaming, WiFi, windows shuttered
How worlds end, not in bangs, but whispers