Skip

Tonight, the DJ’s got us falling in love again. . .

I ushered your noise into existence.

My basket-woven flesh tingled at your presence

my wooden legs stood tall as stone towers and my fingertip

rode along ridges and valleys of vinyl until both hummed your heartbeat.

You made me fingerpaint with the colors of the wind in the corner of the family room.

Skip

Somewhere, beyond the sea

your hands found my memoirs stacked like a stairway to Heaven in the basement.

They lay on the plastic rack that sagged until its two backs arched in ecstacy

and you talked to me in croons and songs about low-tide.

Every night, I sang you lullabies,

cradled you until the dust danced for a room empty save for your breaths

and in those days, the biggest worry was if you finally wore that Raffi record straight down to the bone.

I shone, in the corner of the family room

Stevie Wonder tickling my ivories

Charlie Daniels caressing my skin

Jam Master Jay playing with my mind until I spoke in tongues

but time will seal all things

and the popping faded

the dust settled

and I stood as a queen’s guard.

I guess

you weren’t my prince any more.

Skip

Middle school

Skip

Prom. . .

Somewhere over the rainbow. . .

You brought her down here. Hand on hip, firm grip and gaze to your shoes.

Clicked the Stacy Adams heels together 3 times

There’s no place like home there’s no place like home there’s no place like home

and then you look up to her face and realize there never was

setting the floor on fire, cutting rug until my grooves became grooves

and my life had purpose again.

Skip

Can we get much higher?

Do not ask questions to which you do not want the answer.

Skip

Shots of whiskey

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Shots of friendly fire

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The shared syringe

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The unemployment line

Skip

Seasons don’t fear the reaper, nor do the wind, the sun or the rain. . .

What is it about you that makes you break so many silences and never heal them?

A child never forgets his first toy and we played

and talked

and wept

and slept

and now the room is empty save for your breaths,

fast and ragged on the front porch.

Home is the place

where if you have to go there they have to let you in.

This isn’t home anymore.

I watched you crying in the rain

would break to make the cacophony to blow out a window

I’m sorry

my volume knob does not go to 11

I’m sorry

I can only speak in others’ inspirations.

Skip

Strumming my pain with his fingers. . .

One time, you got your hair fixed. Beard trimmed. She told you

she found a new dance partner and you imagined her

clutching his back like a B-side bearing all his back-masking.

Singing my life with his words. . .

2 times the dosage, swallowing pills and swan songs until hope floats and you capsize it.

Killing me softly with his song, killing me softly, with his song. . .

I never asked to be somebody’s funeral march.

For 38 years, I taught you needles should scratch the surface

like the fingertips of a safecracker,

not break through vinyl

or crack through barriers

sending brains into overdrive, neurotransmitters skipping like a broken record

fight fuck flee

fight fight fufuckfuck flee

fleeeeee fight fuck flee

breathe.

Skip, I was collecting these discs to make another backbone

in case you ever needed it.

But there is some brokenness even angel song cannot fix,

some beasts that music cannot soothe.

Carry on my wayward son,

There’ll be peace when you are done.

Lay your weary head to rest,

Don’t you cry no more.