Alternate Oceans

I know why I think about you more these days,

You are the last thing I know of familial love.

The hole numb as ocean in what your mother ripped

It was expansive before her.

Surely the hunger is what kept me to request her to return originally

Knowing a greater esteem I doubt you would exist.

I would like to tell you your parents loved each other,

At one point I would have answered differently, not because things ever changed,

But because I know more of what was, rather than what I thought it to be.

Your mother never loved me.

I was a bandage to damn an alternate ocean.

We became like a continent her and I like tectonic bodies colliding in agreement

Her for the surface; I for the sub-surface,

The roots and the flowers; I thought growing; the numbness blinds the water

From knowing whether if there ever was a reason

For truth or lies or decisions to break ranks

The only rationale I know is the flow of appearances and emotional necessity

I had and have learned to be alone; your father does not comprehend how people meet

Comingle and find friendships from the nothingness; the nothingness is ubiquitous

On the sea of faces to my gaze; each appears stranger.

Transforming is an arduous climb fraught with fall after fall slashing my shins and knees

In unanswered questions; your mother was the greatest careening gasp.

The piton secure of all foundations removed itself as if the earth quaking from the sky.

Hands of flesh able to tear marble from the countertop and cast as pebbles into the sea

The cherry flecks stare back at me awash in circles amongst the veins.

Why we / she / I put the rocks everywhere?

The chasm begot chasm and I ache for you happily and morbidly numb and in love

To see you become like her, like me, as always you.

I am falling again in exasperation wanting to take that town and get the shrapnel out my cheeks.

Legs of stone and nothing is disconnected, nothing is connected, everything is numb.

The limbs of giants pity me; I am begging to be crushed and they will not slay my vampires

Flying across my memories, I tried to write them to forget; to let go and let the will slip.

The heirs of dreams waft in like snow flurries in May, near the end and the cackling witches

Come into the fray of broom-handle janitorial-staffing company offices I pass to come to my office

Every morning; parking-detail-painted cruisers and assholes ruined my appetite for fantasy football 

I don’t even play Magic anymore.

Your mother has made my best memories vomit-inducing comas.

I cannot touch love without touching her

And I would rather lay idle and make time with books, music, and diligent accountancy

In throngs of hours where boredom is never allowed to enter.

Companionship is never allowed to enter.

Only self-sufficiency as paramount trump,

That I could do whatever need to survive alone.

As this will be a cliché of non-repetition; knowing I never turned down many before or after her

I am vagabond with the brick-face stub-legs.

I know my short-comings.

I laugh at the concept of choice and love ever dancing together.

Love has always been a dribble.

Cacti know.

I invite the buzzards, but to date they keep their flight.

The numb wanders a haze of mirage so that the city appears like highways

Stucco, asphalt, glass, blue air, but I know it to be rocky crag.

To the touch is hardness clubbing in a folk song out of tune and predictable.

Cut the man off, his tab is full tonight.

Fingers ache from the spills.

Poor billiards and the whiskey has him frazzled.

Sleep on the bathroom floor and wait for the bar-keep to close.

Never the wiser.