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here I go again making
it all about me and yet
there's a heuristic logic
that the young have yet to get
yes this one picks up where
my other poem left us
wrangling with specters of
my memory prospectus
and why I get buy in
on my kids grown and flown
they came from me dammit
they're all that I've known
they get it, I guess
I don't ask for more
probably better than most
still they close my door
I'm tempted to compare
my parents' shut tight
locking me in and out
alone in the cold light
that's a place I won't go
sadly never to rescue me
only to protect now folk
who'd never be able to see
the rub is ironic
can't show me now nor then
that damn chafing blister
hurts like it did back when
we who'd nothing then
still have nothing today
all our now are gone
up and went far away
time was I was all to them
they're still here technically
but it sure as hell feels like
they're sure as hell gone from me
it's about me, damn time
that's what this verse explores
it ain't about mine now growing
but mine then closing the doors
--sexy guitar riff--
Damn them. What do they know??
Why am I writing this poem?
Why each night do I keep
mending the "unbroken circle?"
(and we're back to the lament of the lonesome child and the outgrown parent)
it's about us because
it's all that we have left
what was ours is gone
we're inexplicably bereft
graveyard friendly ghosts
we see but are unseen
haunting living footsteps
eager to help, we keen
should I stay or should I go
is there a place for me
with my little loved ones
is where I want to be
yet I can't drag them back
to elysian fields I know
they've flown to places
that I can never go
mute ache of them going
for lose them you surely do
can't sugarcoat it, my dears
someday it will happen to you
the unbroken circle comes
round and round once more
wish I could, my darlings
close for you that door.
wish we could all stay
in my Elysian field mind
there's room for everyone here
and everyone is so kind
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