What If?

It’s hard
to cloud the closure..
and remember just
the fullness of good
in what
you had become.

 

The irony in mind,
remains the spectacle.. the sound
of your resounding laughter!
in innocence
of impending inevitability.

 

This failure
isn’t
reversible, as are
so many
benumbing things, in wading
these shallows of unimportance.
Yet..
dreams arrive
in waking, to transpire
as madness
of impossible abstractions
on concealed sources
and conspiring possibilities..?

 

 

From Book IV

Wishful Thinking

These days
are strange as the nights,
where I can’t help revisiting
the absurdity.. of your defeat..

   
And
it seems, then,
a rather good idea
to visit some
snow – an evening
with a small handgun,
have it loaded, listen
for the ‘click’ – as
the hammer’s cocked; then
hold it backwards,
point the barrel
right down between
the eyes – straight up
the middle, and gently
slip a calm thumb
before the easeful trigger,
lean delectably into
the freezing metal muzzle..
grin.. pull..

   
BANG!!!

.. ..

.

   
And it’s all fixed..
it all… gets better…
it all
goes back the way
it was always
meant
to be:

   
no lights
and no more
fucking eVERYTHing!! up..

   
to
end up nowhere…
unconscious of being
with you.

 

 

From Book IV

Elitist Listener

Is finding
music
that, for a long
few minutes,
fills
the hollows…
that
one cannot
touch – inside…
enough
of a reason
to stay
alive?

   
There are
many
more important
ones, where
the well-being
of another
becomes
of more
consequence
to you, than your own.

   
Perhaps
a child, for whom
his Dad
gave up his drugs
and
worked hard
to give the delinquent
an education.

   
Or a personal purpose,
as a brilliant and unsuccessful doctor
rereading repurchased books
of Pathology,
to redress
an age neglected,
in the waning hope
of restoring
an out-of-reach laboratory,
and dying
of a heart attack
at forty-nine,
confused.. and alone..
while
the kid, now a man, the
one thing
he wholeheartedly cherished…
was out
making money
somewhere in the big fucking city!

   
For those
who do not believe
in fairy tales
and have seen their share
of futile trial
and cruel death,
it suffices to say
that
they often find
little reason to feel
that reality
was ever directed
toward
anything good,
and… eventually has
no meaning, other
than sadder memories.

   
And
in this capricious state
of the definite
and oncoming nature
of unpredictable
and irrevocable loss..
perhaps,
discovering pointless music
that makes you think
such pointless thoughts,
is as good a reason as any… for
lingering, pathetically, here.

   
For all reason,
in time,
disappears..
in one inescapable vacuum..
and is rendered
unknown,
unknowable,
null
and
void.

   
While the ravages
of mortality
tend
to take the shine
away
from dreams,
it is, or still feels
wrong
to take
one’s own life,
as long
as there are those you’d hurt,
were you
to simply
go away.

   
Someone
had once
asked
my father
what he wanted
his son
to be, when I
grew up.
To this,
the M.D. Pathologist
replied:
“Alive and Happy”
…and that
is what I’ll
try…
to be.

 

 

From Book IV