1)
I sit still in my thoughts
and lay silently
beneath a sea of stars,
late summer
and the world is on fire.
I lay resting in some kind
of infused world now
which has become new to me
without expectation.
And I say new
but somehow, I know
this was always intended.
I find us interesting
to say the least, as if we are
like two symbiotic souls
that come from two different lives
and exist in a physical association.
We are the same, this way
the same as the sky exists for birds
or to me
we are the same as how the seas
compliment the sands
of unknown beaches
that stem from my fantasies within.
You are here with me now
but somehow . . .
it’s wild to think this way.
It’s crazy, but true
because you have always “been there.”
It is nighttime, here
on my side of the street.
I am awake and aware
and I unwind in a sense.
I exhale and understand
as if to be aware that soon,
I will see the autumn moon
and soon enough
the winds will cool
and the sands
on the beach at Point Lookout
will be absent of their tanning bodies
and quietly suspended
due to its seasonal abandonment.
It is clear to me
now
and yet
you have always been clear to me
the same as the moon pulls the tides
fate pulls us in different directions
and destiny is like the lace
that ties the eyelets of fate together
and gives life its meaning.
Ah, life.
Life and its tiny moments of awareness
or life and its moments
of foreshadowing,
or life and how it shares moments
that happen between us
as if to act like a big, bright sign
to be mindful
or to tell us
“Watch out,” because something
is coming your way
We turned a blind eye
you and me.
we did this for way
too long.
2)
I will see your ante
and up the dosage
to mask the charades
and dull the sharpness
of your jagged edges.
I see the world can be sharp and blade-like
and how, if we are not careful
the truth is that life can cut you
deep and dirty.
Or if we are mindful
or careful,
we can walk the edge
which is thin,
like the width of a razor blade
but hey, one side of the fence
is unknown, like the afterlife
and the other side
is the varied stages
of our constant reality.
Life is the “here and now”
of what’s going on
and too,
life is the who, what, where
why and when
which is complete with traumatic outcomes
and the realities, of which
I tried so hard
to run
or hide.
It’s just a fix.
That’s all.
It won’t hurt,
but the fix won’t last long either—at least
not long enough
or nearly as long as the invisible price tag
which is why, trust me when I tell you:
The first hit is always free.
And yes,
be advised, the devils will always look
to loan you something
because the devils know
you’ll always come back
with interest
and then some
And don’t worry
if you’re on the dangle
and you can’t pay.
It’s fine.
We tend to work this out
in trade anyway.
Be aware:
The devil knows how
you can pay him back
because you can always repay your debt
by infecting someone else
and push his product,
like. . .
for free.
3)
His skin was dark
and the whites of his eyes
beamed as if his nerves
were wired like the power lines
that powered the streetlamps
on a corner in East New York, Brooklyn.
I don’t know
if he felt the shot
or heard the sound his body made
when he flew back
and hit the car.
I didn’t feel it either
but I saw it
and I heard the thud
when his body flew back.
I don’t know if the narcotic
numbed the body or his mind enough
to soften the bullet wound.
I don’t know where he was with this
or if the need to pay homage
to the cocaine gods was enough to settle his debt.
I don’t know if he was high or able to master
the smokable dosage for a temporary rush.
I definitely don’t know if this
was enough to numb the surface.
All for the demons,
I suppose.
All is traded for a feeling that
freezes the mind
and leaves you fiending
for another blast of numbness
to be high (again.)
His life
for one last hit . . .
Was it enough?
I always laugh
when people act like addiction
is something new
or regard the deaths
and put people
in columns and then write them off
like a statistic.
Not in my backyard.
Not in my home.
Yeah, I’ve heard that before too.
So did the father who holds
an empty baseball glove
and so did the mother who weeps
after saying,
my child would never do anything
like that.
Would they?
4)
I lay at night
under a small roof
that houses me
in my own little corner of the world.
I lay quiet
and think
somehow,
this life has taken me everywhere
and in the same breath,
I realize the miles I have traveled
is how fate brought us back
to where we belong,
which is here, with you, alive
and in full circle.
Destiny are the eyelets
and fate is the lace
which wove us together.
Sometimes
I plea to the stars
or wish that I could lay in the moonlight
on the warm sand
of a beach where no one knows me
except for you.
I can be healed and absolved
and like The Son said to his people;
I can go
and sin no more.
I have surpassed my limitations
and as for my limits
or my tolerance for pain, or loneliness,
I can assure you, —this is not comfortable
by any means
but with all my heart,
I cannot and will not
ever live as I lived
or be as I was
again.
I know the beast very well.
I know why he smiles too.
I know why he tells his friends
“Don’t worry. They’ll be back”
and I know why the devil changes
his tune or disguises his voice,
down to the accent
and his pronunciation.
Bless me Father,
for I have sinned
and it has been lifetimes
since my last confession—
Or as Simon Peter said
to The Son after He had risen,
“Stay with us. For it is nearly evening
and the day is almost over,”
I extend my fears and offer my prayer
to the sea of your stars . . .
Stay with me, please
for my life is near its evening
and my days are close to over.
I see you now.
I see how redemptions runs like a hourglass;
and, therefore
the time to redeem myself
has to be now
before the sands run out.
Forgive me, Mother,
watch over me
so I can do as “she” said
and be a good boy
again.
The Written Addiction 