Hanging in the fissure of a whalebone,
mourning songs like foghorns...
I was a disfigured fox,
disappearing into a fog of dead wood and winter...
Father,
Time's unraveled in a tangle of what's left...
I love you, possessively.
I love you like a hot meal and a cold beer...
Maybe I was the ocean, come crashing in,
and you were the stream, undisturbed on a quiet...
No, he is not a prince in full regalia,
riches falling at his boots...
Some are wilting before
Rising with the blazing...
I told them if I lose him too, I will die
Because these are the threads that bind me whole...
The exasperated sigh of a father is not like other...
His disappointment hits me like a jo...
The smell of pancakes in the morning
Humming in the kitchen...
My thoughts of you are red.
Not the flare of passion or tender hues of...
Is it love or lack thereof that stays his prying...
Were he to look, it would take not long...