solitude, screams deafening

the ghost of empty sound reminiscent of the afterthought of a pull of a finger

while I was still very young and

innocent to what the world can do to twist a person into bits all over the sidewalk

in a place I've been just once or twice

which marred a man who gave me  the blueprint of these eyes, and the hiccups of these hands

but not the memory of drinks blurred to swings or fists

or of overlooked remains to be scooped up

placed by greed and by spite

or left behind from a man maybe marred by the abuse of his father

and the man that fathered him

scattered across that pavement


then blue screens bounce off of frames of my father's eyes

chatter, cold, not really there

dad, teach me how to drive

I begged, close the distance

maybe distance could get me there faster

away sooner

to independence from you

then you strung a white flag with hollow threaded fabric made of disengagement and disillusion

it was folded, put away for 7 years

but now hangs down the hallway from me  

heavy and awkward in my home

now just days til that cloth is lost forever to the place where my grandfather's remains left his own fabric of defeat and malice

anger whispers let go

childhood longs for soothing

and closure's proximity is sickening