small, sad, sincere thoughts

My daughter and I spent the last couple days with her dad.

I honestly don’t know which hurts more: loving him and knowing I need to leave him for the safety of myself and my daughter; not loving him and being polite but empty.

Pretty much feels like fucked if you do and fucked if you don’t.

Sometimes I think I am ready to fall in love again.  Except that the last time was so destructive, and the time before that, and the time before that, and the time before that.

The good news about all of this is that I have absolutely no idea when any of that will happen. So I can’t avoid it, but then again, I can’t plan for it either.

There is a certain freedom that comes from realizing that it’s all a crap shoot.

Like happy little kids from the 1970s.  I used to be a happy little kid from the 1970s.  Trust me when I say that that world is gone. But the feeling still remains.


This will be a short post. I need to get up early tomorrow and finish up the school year with  my daughter.  But I wanted to post another poem.

This one was written after Las Vegas but before hostage.  Blessed be and thank you.


wild justice is not just, my words
as I mount stairs to die
on gallows you’ve built just for me
beneath the desert sky.

a pauper’s grave on town’s outskirt
where soon my flesh will rot:
I see now from this wooden stage
as you cinch tight the knot.

I wonder if there beats a heart
covered by star and vest.
I don’t doubt that I’ve tempted you.
so here’s my last request:

stand close by me, and you’ll see it:
my life, my pain, my view.
then kiss me like a lover would
and God I’ll beg for you.

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Hours I own all of these ideas, but none of these images.
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