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
