I wish slow motion wasn't reserved 

for hollywood movies

and action sports sequences

It’s too late though

American Beauty ruined it for everyone

damn paper bag in the wind

It was genius

but it was also

garbage

I haven’t laid on the floor in weeks.

I don’t know what the baseboards look like anymore.

My grass is so green it hurts my eyes

I miss the dead spots

There is no hair building up

In the corners for me to vacuum

I still see him on the corner of the couch

Looking hungover like a Sunday

Hearing his nails move

Across the wood floor 

Sometimes I’ll just open the back door

And let nobody out

The plants don't need my constant watering

Or attention

Sometimes neither do 

My family

I walk silently through the fields

I miss my friend

In the quietest places though

He finds me

A soft breeze

A lapping wave

Here boy.

Its just a rock

night black

oval

and its in my possession for the fourth year

against explicit instructions 

its been many places

behind the bookcase

under the car seat

in my school bag and desk drawer

but once it belonged to a teacher

and before that his lover

who died in his arms

he gave it to me because it was 

something

he did for every student

he gave them something to remember his classes by

each was different

and he told me to throw it into a lake

and although I've seen many lakes since then

here sits the rock

its just a rock

rolled in the hands of those who’ve loved

felt intense pain

died

i sometimes wonder 

if it will float

with the joy of love

or sink

with the weight of grief

and i keep it

I'm scared to find out

There is a sense of liberation in buzzing your head

Call me Britney but I don’t need your attention

These are my favorite days

When you knock down the house of cards

Paint with your fingers

Sing to your dog

Tomorrow you can be boring again

Hair is a fickle thing for lots of people

Or follicle thing

Rooted deep In our unconscious

Shrinking our ears

Hiding our eyes

You forget how round and fragile your skull is

Until you bathe it in light

Rub your hand over it like a lazy crystal ball

Trace your widows peak back to your father

It's not coming back

Well, at least most of it isn't

Arm the clippers

Liberation is mine

Adventure lived

when the lights went out

and we were to be sleeping

on the moonlit floors of the sunroom

too much light 

for boys of our age

and we ventured out

the room beyond the doors dark

in silence we moved

not even sure where

we were going

but alive in possibility

every knee

every board

a bend

a creak

pause.

continue.

The kitchen

a new record

and parents asleep

but a creak

sent us

there is no running

not now.

How is it that I found myself on the floor

its not how you’d think

in a room full of conversating adults

down with the toddlers

By my own accord is how

there is no cyclonic talk of the weather

or business to attend to

eyes wide genuine interest 

I found a calming silent hum

in the incoherent babbling of forming speech

a simplicity in movement

expression raw and pure

I spread out down on the hardwood

blissfully engaged, naturally free

thinking as a child 

by my own accord

down with the toddlers

in a room full of conversating adults

I regained my senses

How is it that I found myself on the floor

and then 

how not to make this 

as awkward as it looks

while rejoining

the weather conversation

The sign took some jumping on to take

it did not want to be seen

and I really didn't want to show it

there are things about a house that only the owner can love

things that reveal themselves over time

In the strange hours of the night

a bump

a creak 

your foundations settling into one

lying on the couch watching shadows

slow hands of nature’s clock

and before you know it

years

fragmented memories

captured in the scent of the wet leaves

the drying scent of dog food 

the endless hours on a lawnmower

I will miss this place

high on the hill with the clanging old water tower

where the wind makes the trees it's instrument

and pounds on us with a cold fist

lying on the floor in the newly emptied rooms

I watch the dust swirl around 

propelled into the air from the heater

like a tornado of tiny proportions

fragmented memories

of a wooded patch out back where I raised my dog

swimming in the pond through the changing seasons

sitting in the snow in the silence 

reading next to a blooming tree

hazy drunken nights and laughter

long drags and late nights on the deck

looking over the city where I was born

trying to figure out how the hell I got back here

and finding a reason to stay

the sounds on the thriving street draw me back

the sign reads sold on one side

and for sale on the other

I did that on purpose

part of me wants to stay

I have become a part of this old house

like those who lived here before

there are things about a house that only the owner can love

things that reveal themselves over time

I wonder when I will appear

Fourteen hours

you have been waiting

cottage cheese ass in your fold out lawn chair

Behind you a man in a painted cardboard box

Behind him people snaking into the distance

In thousands of cities, in the rain and sun

It’s a half inch thicker than the one you're holding

January was forever ago

You are the envy of the modern world

While you ate Doritos and played “shake for boobs” the world kept spinning

A flood took out a village, A dolphin choked on some plastic, A child opened her eyes

Oh look, a new update to Pandora

I’ve wasted ten minutes

it’s a mighty fine steed I ride of righteousness

Cynic with a keyboard

We are not so different you and I

Huxley laughs at us from his grave

That old man never knew the glory of the Internet

In fourteen hours they will make it sleeker, shinier, faster

Someone will write a better poem

We are dinosaurs already in the back of a new line

Watching you smoke your pipe

I learned the dramatic pause

and it took me many years

until I learned that when someone said

“If you have nothing intelligent to say, 

then say nothing at all.”

the nothing at all

wasn't actually 

nothing

but a well placed

something

dramatically placed

like a slow smoke cloud

pursed gentilly

questionably

and lofted

to be taken 

in the simplest of words

that years later

I will always wonder

if he ever spoke 

too prophetically

or if we 

never spoke enough

and either way

it was enough

that whenever someone smokes

I stop

and sniff

dramatically

as if something

prophetic was just said

and staring off blanky

when someone says

“What's up?”

“Nothing.”

I say.

“Nothing.”

we always knew this day would come

endless shrimp is gone for good

crustacean lovers mourn

as the banners fall from the rafters

it was not the sea that forsake us

she remains ever-abundant

but high prices, inflation, high interest rates

the need for strategic realignment to meet shifting consumer habits

yet behold, hope shines like a star in the north

for us, broken vessels adrift

a better tartar sauce recipe 

harkens it’s call in the distance

yes, the menu will be plenty smaller

and many port lanterns quenched

but a new dawn wakes on the horizon

whispers the crew

swells of lobster not seen in these waters

some even speak of  

the shadow in the distance

fabled hush puppies, long-forgotten

is it ocean madness to believe

through the looking glass, I spot

drifting in the offing,  a new land flag arises

“The Greatest Lobsterfest of All Time”

A windfall from the east 

breathes life into dormant sails

To port, my friends, to port

we shall wassail and raise our cups

hope

is not lost

if a cardinal is just a bird

and not a lost loved one returned

quietly singing

reminding me to listen 

why do I always hear them

why do I always see them

why do I miss them when they fly away

if something someone told me long ago

is just a story

and I believe it

does it make it any less true

if It helps me remember

if it helps me smile

If it helps me sleep at night

little placebo, my friend

let me down gently

I will stand outside

in the summer and spring

fall and winter

calling

clinging to bird sounds

clinging to fleeting seasons

clinging to the solace of every sunset

If the illusion the sun will come up tomorrow

is the greatest lie ever told

illusions have their merits

the cardinals will return

little placebo, my friend

stay a while and placate me

reality can wait

a moment

while I watch

while I listen

while I remember

hope

even borrowed has it’s truth

if you can still see it

if you still hear it

if you still remember that  it’s there

singing deep

from within the darkest tree

smile

Did you ever sneak out Dad?

They ask me

I weigh the question

Of course I say

In blatant disregard

for all laws of parenthood

my girls are twelve

but you can’t anymore

I explain

these days things are different

there’s cameras

everywhere

and I let that sit

we all feel its weight

What did you do Dad?

They ask me

as if elaborate plans were drawn

important missions were accomplished

but they were not

the opposite in fact

once freed 

the cage takes a new shape

and so we wandered

lazy nomads

weaving through lawns

hopping fences

darting across dim streets

but we did laugh

and we did run

and if only for the brief couple hours

among the darkness

among the sleeping town

among the red street  lights

the stars

and the moon

we ran

flew even

but you can’t anymore

I explain

desperately though I want to be wrong

there’s laws

everywhere

a part of me wants them to learn 

to break them

my girls are twelve

the laws of parenthood

are to be broken too

however gently

I will turn a blind eye

to watch my caged birds fly

and learn what wings are for

if you promise to return home

until you learn 

it was never a cage at all

the door was always open

we just never wanted you to leave