You are all Atlas

Man.

Old hirsute wizened weathered troubled man

I see you.

Not just your face but the stories it tells

Through crooked grin

It’s in hallowed eyes

Begging to be remembered

History places too many in the background

This is for you, man

For the man who tasted sweat on his lips and knew

This was the taste of life

Who discovered that sweat and tears taste the same;

Sweat, tears and blood flavor the soil

Something palpable and human and ancient.

The man who carved history from the back of the earth

Hands calloused, marred like the ground

These are the hands of Man,

The marks of Man, the pride of Man,

Grizzled specimen of survival and struggle and selflessness

I will remember you

I will call you uncle, brother, cousin, friend

Hold your head high you

Appalachian champion, you

Southern gentlemen, you

Dust bowl denizen, you

Patroller of the Pacific Northwest

You are a history of perseverance and failure

And perseverance and success.

Building block of a

Solid sort

You are Whitman,

Your words bring earth to page to life

You are Sooner, you are Settler, you are epitome.

You are my Uncle, 30 years of days

in dark earth belly.

You are my father, putting

God and family before himself

You are me

And my father, and my grandfather,

And his father

You are us.

Thank you for carrying us

You carry us so well.

sunlight on mirrors

There are times when even though my window has been closed for days and no apparent natural light has come into my room[natural meaning of nature and into meaning a metaphorical entrance through tempered glass], I still feel as though it snakes its way throughmyblinds ontomybed acrossmyfloor hitting my face, reflecting off my old mirror [my mirror being the one I purchased and not made so as to see myself allegedly] and this sunlight, this uninvited, precocious, intergalactic traveler[intergalactic being the expanse though which it journeys and traveler being one who travels for that sake alone]; this invades my room without regard to my present state and expects me to just accept its presence, much like that of air or sneezing or losing one sock, something expectantly inevitable, while maybejustmaybe I had something better to do than cheer up and breathe and smile and enjoy life and warmth and be satisfied.

Unaddled

Having you was privilege.

Needing you was breathing.

Losing you was…

Having you was needing you was losing you was

Spinning the cylinder was

Open and taste…was

Chasing you was like playing

Russian roulette with a gun where

Someone had loaded the rest of the chambers when

I wasn’t looking; when

It came to be my turn to

Bite the bullet

I bit hard and it

Bit back harder, shattering my

Smitten smile into

Cavity-laden snowflakes so convincing,

The neighborhood children grabbed their

Snowsuits and toboggans for playtime in my wake.

Their parents blame me for

Leading their children astray

With false promises of recreation because

Today’s children may not be taken in by

Artificiality but they’re

Far too accepting of it.

And I’ve grown weary of gumming

Everything I put my mouth to so

I’m cutting new teeth on my only

Photo of you, gnawing at the edges until they’re

So tattered it seems as though

Someone has ripped you from reality;

The reality is my reality is altered

In your absence and

While my teeth have grown back in,

While I am able to chew and swallow again,

Things still don’t quite taste right.

And that gun is sitting on the nightstand,

Hammer cocked; and the fear that someone

Has loaded the rest of the chambers again is

Starting to wear off; it just looks

So damn appetizing.

But I’ve yet to determine if these

Pangs in my stomach are

truly of hunger or

just a fear of not finding

something of substance to

sate these primal tempests

in my gullet the way that

you did.

So I’ll continue my teething

Like privilege

Like breathing

Like nothing has changed

Like we’re both still the same

Like that gun isn’t taunting me

Like the chambers are empty

Like tomorrow will be different

Like Youth is asking its parents to show them what real is

Like real still is

Like real life tastes nothing of gunmetal

And I smile again

A big toothy grin

White as snowflakes

And you’re bitter as I walk away.

Chill out, lady

and I said to her
Honey
I hear you, but
your cookie-cutter
flower petal
make-no-mistake
tone is quite
deafening to the ear
Your message
lost among the static of
fly-by-night
bumble bee
runway landings; oh
can't you ever make
a statement without
epiphany and
expectation of
concession
?

the oceans we knew and the jewelry we have

We saw it coming

from far off

We were aware of

this wave from nowhere

We did nothing to stop it

And don’t you think for a

moment that I didn’t want to

I was patiently waiting for

your cue

It never came

Breaking slowly over us

the tide of our own remorse

We drank it in greedily

Mouths opened wide like

Young fledglings we were

We were not ready for this life

These duties

We

should have turned in our badges

At the first sign of trouble

But we held them like

Breath

Easy and fulfilling are not

Synonymous

Hardness like fire-scorched

Steel or diamonds –

Herein lies fulfillment

Yet we settled for nickel and

dime store mood rings

As though we could compass our way

through life based

on the color of a stone

on our right middle fingers

When you rely on body heat

to make your most important decisions

Your answers become arbitrary

and mood rings are unreliable when

you’re already

dead inside anyway

Think about it

And next time you wash

the remnants of the day

from your hands, try to

leave the little green circle

around your right middle finger

It’s all we have left

Don't move, be still

Don't move, be still

pussy cat. Your

whiskers are giving away

your position in the windblown.

We see you there.

Try not to breathe too loudly. You'll

disturb the monster. She's

never pleasant when

she's awakened without

just cause. I know

because I've done it before.

See my scar? A reminder of

past mistakes isn't a preventer of

new ones in and of itself, so

hush. Be still. Lie.

rise and fall of a parking lot god

So this one time I got punched
in my right jaw
by a man high on PCP
for no reason other than I
was walking through a parking lot
he forgot to inform me was
his devil's playground
angel dust coursing through his veins
he thought himself god of the pavement
the drugstore, his castle
the cars, his chariots
"Mind me!" he slurs through drooled grunts
as fist connects with metal and glass
then flesh, finding me at fault for
entering his domain without his permission
my trespass not quickly forgiven
no offer of daily bread
his will to be done in his personal
asphalt kingdom of heaven

his prayer is slightly different than mine.

as the police placed him in steel
did he ever realize
while coming down
that even devils come
as angels of light

to the young girl who thinks she is a grown woman

So I recently joined a free online dating site
or two
as a means by which to meet people
ok, women people
in my new city of Tulsa
and I've noticed a pattern
I cannot ignore

To the young girl who thinks she is a grown woman
Two babies
One 12 weeks old
The other two years
Tired of losers and assholes
Looking for a real man

Stop it
Stop with the pictures of you in your bikini from above
Stop with the kissy faces and lyrics from bad country songs
Stop with thinking you're more than the child you still are
You're not yet a real woman so
How can you be looking for a real man?
You have babies but you're
Still a baby yourself 
Don't tell me you're grown
because you have prematurely had to grow up
Forced to change diapers
and wipe spit-up
off of your Forever 21 top and

Abercrombie jeans 

This isn't Maury Povich
Acting like an adult and being one
are completely different
I'm sorry

Sorry for whatever circumstances forced you to
grow up before you should have
Now I know
There are always stories with
extenuating circumstances but
that's a different poem
This here is for you
The girl who earned this life path
Through conscious decisions
You were irresponsible
Birds and bees don't stop flying around
your bed or couch or back seat or truck
just because you're 15 and invincible
We all thought that once
And as of yet no one has pulled it off
Sex won't make him love you
Neither will fatherhood
You are not an easy bake oven
a nine month ingredient dump
You are worth more than that
Show me your value
You are youth
Show me grace. Smile.
You give life to those around you
Live yours for you
You are beautiful
Your eyes carry secrets man has forgotten
You need to remember this

And I'm willing to concede that
this isn't entirely your fault
Expectations of women today
can be so damn confusing with
the disparities between how
you're expected to act in public
versus the bedroom
Women in the public eye
using their children
and the way in which they made them
as media magnets
This is what meets their eyes daily
and eventually it takes its toll on a
young woman's heart and mind
Whores for attention so often get labeled
as the other when their babies are mistaken
for rouge, lipstick, and an invitation
"She's got kids so you know she puts out"
"But she's so sweet...how could that
have happened to such a young girl?
What a shame..."
Since when did children become shame...
That's why you're here
on this site
looking for a real man

And I'm a nice guy
but at 25 I know I am not ready
to father a child
and a girlfriend
And don't mistake my

concession for coddling
I'm willing to support you being
A mother to your child and
a young girl to yourself but
someone has to help you to realize that
albeit too soon, it's grown-up time now
So you won't be hearing from me 
other than in this poem 
Cause I may be a real man but
I'm not what you need
I pray that you find it