Plaster Hand.

I have this plaster hand…
Likened to yours;
Hanging above the kitchen door…
The one we made so long ago…
On Christmas Eve Day, just bored…
I have a poem written…
By your tiny hand;
As tiny as the one that hangs…
Above the kitchen door frame…
It says “Mommy I Love You”…
And the Gods help me…
If when I pass it by, I don’t hear the words…
In a sigh, a whispering…
I keep a tiny, silver jewelry box…
The one you saved up for;
Inscribed across the dusty top …
Is chiseled in, beautifully:
“I Love You Mommy”…
And “Mommy” dies a little more…
I have all these haunting memories…
Of having future plans;
Fulfilling hopes and dreams…
Just you and I surviving…
Getting back up to stand…
I saved these Christmas things…
Yours and mine;
Stored away like a box to mourn…
Every year, when it’s opened again…
And looks the same…
As the years before…
I held on to your special ornaments…
All of them;
Though I never hang them high…
I never get a tree anymore…
I see no reason why…
But I keep these things…
To remind myself…
Of the twinkle lost to my eye…
I held on to so many things…
Of yours;
Desperately trying…
To keep you somehow, near…
Closer at least…
Than wherever you are…
I have this little butterfly wing…
You brought home;
You flew it behind you like a kite…
A colorful ghost that chased you…
Right out of second grade…
I find these notes you wrote…
To me; To Mommy;
They read your apologies…
For spilling toothpaste on the rug…
And I want to come find you wherever you are…
And tell you that rug never mattered to me.

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Destroyer of Worlds.

The sun ceased to rise
on the morning that followed,
the curse of Her figure amidst the darkening skies;
hearts began to crumble
at first glance of the very same sight,
a darkening of any light against Her Banshee cries;
Her shape only grew and shifted
as She wound her impetuous impositions,
stitching threads through every pair of lips and eyes;
silencing the dumbstruck crowd
unwilling to do anything that is right,
cutting down anyone who counters Her Army of Lies.

The moon has never hung again
since Her forces invaded the heart of man,
in a final stand against what Shiva plans to realize;
the stars have faded notably
to see one twinkle has become rare to behold,
in a black sky where a constant shimmering once occupied;
and it is Her, who has done this
bled the red of my heart into a dry wasteland,
and left the most sacred of ancient divinities all but demystified.

The Destroyer arrived in 2007
to eat both of my arms as they cradled my Boo,
She never made me any indemnities, never tried to compromise;
a wake of hellish destruction follows
closely on the heels of Her stinky, filthy sandal-feet,
leaving the likes of me lucky to be hardly memorialized;
and so the show goes on today
Shiva the Destroyer still reigns highly,
I bow my head out of necessity as she passes by,
so I can keep it on a little longer and plot Shiva’s final demise.

Sunrise and ADHD.

What does this morning’s dawning want to bring to me?
I could wash the wood floors, or climb a tall tree;
I could force myself to get my lab work done, finally;
Or I could sit on the beach and get stoned, like I want to be.

How’s about the library?
I can read my favorite books endlessly;
Surprise Sensei Han when I show up for karate;
Or just sit on my ass at my desk and write poetry.

Perhaps I will lead, in high speed – at the racetrack, again;
Or maybe shit some overpriced ammo down the drain;
I could always go hiking and get lost in the rain;
I’m partial to the idea of a tattoo gun’s special pain.

Today might be the day I dive for abalone;
Or decide to set my family of society finches free;
I just never know what’s in store for me;
With a mind so confined by its A.D.H.D.