Nothing’s been the same since you

died

no matter how I slice it

no matter how I see it

no matter how much time attempts some bullshit move to heal it

You were in my blood and you will stay in my

blood

until my blood stops

and dries

your love and roots and every

bit of fur haunt me

no matter where I run

no matter which continent

or bar or highway

your little ghost

sits, sleeps, rides shotgun

your eyes the faintest of blue

looking wise in the sunshine

across the parks and ponds and lakes

and coasts

your little heart beating big enough

for my own

your belly against my palm

in all those shitty rooms

in shitty towns

or in the beds of

shitty women

you always knew I had

guts when nobody else

did

and you always knew I’d

pull us up and out of anywhere

we despised

closer to me than any human

will get

deeper under my skin than

my own bones

so far into my heart you’re still

the center

and though

your daddy was in jail

when you had to die

and though I don’t believe

in angels or anything beyond

carbon

you came to see me the first night

you were gone

and I held you on the slab in

the cell and fell asleep with my

hand on your stomach one last time

before you went off

to do something greater

than I could ever imagine

I want to take this afternoon

to tell you that I love you more than

anything

and no sacrifice I’ve ever made

to keep you

could hold a candle to how much

I still love you

six years past your

death

and I want to tell you here

that because of you

I know what unconditional love means

and if you were here now

I’d buy you the best of everything

even though you wouldn’t have

any idea what that means

but your little brother is almost

eleven now,

and he’s happy

and I still talk about you

and his tail still wags at the mention

of your name

and there’s even a little

girl in the mix now

she looks something like you

which is why she’s here

and while it’s true she doesn’t have your

shrewd, moody genius

I know you’d be proud that

I gave her a home

and on days like this

when the whiskey’s half gone

and I’m lost out on the road

while I wait for things to come through

while I cross my fingers and hope

things start to make sense

while I wait for the spines and brains around

me to grow

while tricky assholes have

siphoned my money

while I either do or do not

wait for eminent failure

or success

the Sun sits high and warm

and shines a beautiful

orange across the desert

while I sit in a hotel and

drink whiskey

to disappear back into

the days when you were

here

when I was alive

and we watched each other

swim

anywhere we chose

to swim

and while I’m sitting here

drunk

and staring into

darkness

I want to take this

moment

to tell you

I still love you.

The Realist has taken many a butcher knife to Hope, slaughtering her over and over and over again until she does but drips blood in tatters and rags. The Realist so extremely fatigued from seeing Hope be nothing but a midnight snack. It's a mercy killing, Really.

Over and over and over again Hope resurrects. She rises like a Phoenix.

The Realist shakes her head, and sharpens her blade.

I'm not good at proving myself. I just am.

I don't hide who I am, I just hide

From idiots

From Internet intellectuals

From smooth talkers

From fashion extremists

From elephants and donkeys

From suits on bikes

From pet and gender side takers

From one-size-fits-all dieters

From people with clip boards

All I crave is realism, honesty, sunrises and sets, flexibility, laughter, and eyes want my body only because they can see my heart.

Pretty words all in a row.

The sun

The moon

The interview

Every answer scrutinized

Accord revered

Acceptance challenged by the inevitable trial

Each preceding experience the jury

Go naked, cloaks are wasted

Mud is real, messy, dirty, real

Skeletons hold up the the sloppy mess

Fear is an anchor tied up in the river of whine

Cut ties and ride to the ocean of maybe

Because that's where life teams