Here’s the funny thing about gratitude:
no one really gives a shit.

That sounds very much like a

glass-half-empty sort of argument.

Regardless of the inherent pessimism,

I promise to do nothing but to be truthful.

There is such a thing as feeling,

feeling too much for things that don’t exist.

It’s not a seance if the one with whom

you are trying to commune

is just 14 paces to your left adjacent;

she breathes the same air

you do.

You’re not bringing back the dead

with your mindless and hurried chatter.

You’re simply adding soil to the top

of the grave of what could have been.

Because the more she gets to know you,

the more repulsed she becomes.

Her slippers would never move in time

to the beat of the a capella songs you write

for those too pained to sing.

Sure, she might have been a dancer.

This gave her the gift of holding

herself like a flute of fine wine

in the hands of a debonair debutant.

Don’t confuse beauty with longing.

Because the sunset doesn’t wish you

to tuck it in at night.

The Auroras that flicker to the north

have no wish to feel your lips pressed

against her lightening waves.

That scarlet cross that weighs heavy

on each of your cheeks flushed

with longing and confusion

is as sanguine as you could ever hope

her lips to one day be.

Chapped by being swallowed by another.



Happy Mother’s Day

Hey Mom,
A few things have happened since I last wrote you. I wrote a book, it’s mostly about you, and a little about another woman who doesn’t really matter too much in comparison. It’s what you would have wanted me to do. You always had so much faith in me as a writer, even when I didn’t believe it to be true myself — in fact, especially then.
So, besides writing the book, I’ve been writing another one. It’s about the background radiation of bullshit (excuse my language) that I deal with from day to day. However, it’s also written in a happier voice than the one that said goodbye to your body for the last time. 
Apart from that, my Article 15 expired the day I decided to write this. That means I can reenlist and PCS without restriction. It’s the end of the long road I’ve walked since I made my last horrible mistake. I remember you not yelling at me when I told you, and I remember all the times I called you to council me when I was so scared that the world was falling around me. You told me I was strong enough to get through it, and you were right. So, today, when I learned that my punishment was finally over; the first person I wanted to call was you.
That used to happen a lot more often, and this is the first time it has in a while. It still hurt me as bad as when I first found out you were gone. But, this isn’t a sad story. This is a story of recovery and transformation. Even though it will never stop being hard, the hard gets outweighed by the good more and more every day. Soon the days I wake up happy will outnumber the days I wanted to join you on that long lost shore that lies behind the endless horizon of living. I know you’re proud of who I am now, because who I am now is who I was before I made the mistake of forgetting what you taught me. 
I can’t visit you on Sunday, but I want you to know that from the bottom of my heart I appreciate everything you did, and everything you gave up for us. Because I can’t visit you Sunday, I want to wish you a happy Mother’s Day: I’ll never forget to call you again.
Best wishes, love your head,