i can't seem to shake the image of my father's demise. i feel as if i have to carry that weight and i do so willingly, but slaves chant beautiful songs in their sweaty surrender and i need to sing as i toil over that moment, working it into something i can manage. you see, my father looked absolutely pitiful and pathetic in the position he happened to die in (it wasn't in the bathroom or anything like that..lol). he lurched forward into an awkward and very sad position that made him seem very weak. i've only explained the details to a few people in the real world sparing most the image, but i've told everybody that i was glad to have found him and not anybody else because i think it would have crushed my mother or my sister. i moved him before anybody could see. still, i am winded by it; to see a person that had struggled so hard in life be humbled by the very position he died in is...well...humbling.

what was all that for?

so it got me to writing on the trip home today. don't feel sad for me. i'm dealing with it right now. and i'm not particularly sad...i just feel kinda cursed. but it just started to lift Smile

(the first bit is about finding him and death, while the latter half is about having to be the witness on the certificate and my claim to actually be one Wink)


That Day


Being is the bottleneck of matter
All thought filters into the moment
Leaving you hanging
Helpless in your own apparatus

Gone

The wasting toward tomorrow
Feels forever heavy in the end
How fitting that the chair gave way
The King is dead!

Long live the King.

(The one eye open
I know he had to)

The Sun shines down on sons
I am made official Witness
To make Truth of what I’ve seen
To cast light on devils

Evil

You assemblage of words
Angels are an art form

Vengeance
Is
Mine