Hey champ
what's the news in your dimension?
I got an invitation to write about you the other day
from an old Gainesville friend
he knew you when you were a little baby
when me you and your mom
were living in married housing
scraping by on Pell Grant money
and my part time job as a windowman
staying together because we loved you
even more than we hated each other
and that's saying something
(some day I would've told you the stories
suffice to say
we were children, so we acted like children)
anyway
this invitation
it shook my foundations
upset my equilibrium
like stirring up an iron pot of steaming gumbo
and the liquid boils over and burns your fucking fingers
but in the process
you move what needs to be moved
from the depths to the surface
first I was disturbed
and then I just put it on the back burner
the way I put you on the back burner
to survive
not so much your memory
but rather the memory of your death
the horror
of you blowing your fucking brains out
on your mom and stepdads bed
while they were at the gym
and I was trying to call you
not that I blame you
you were in pain and
this world is bullshit
you were just a brave boy who knew too much too soon
so don't think I'm not proud of you
I always was
and this didn't change that
one iota
Whenever I wonder why
you did what you did
I remember how
sensitive you were
a child without skin
this world
this scheme of things as they call it
the set up of this reality
would have only gotten more and more and more
excruciating and unbearable
for you
as time went on
and there aint no pill for that, lad
believe me, I've tried them all
this is just to say:
I know how tiresome it all seemed to you
I know how much you suffered
scratch that, mini-me
Truth is
I knew but I did not know
If I had had any real idea
little man
I would've done...
what?
I would've done something
Shit
I knew you were a moody kid
but I didn't think the fault lines ran so deep
your mother loved you
your father loved you
your stepfather loved you
she was responsible
I was bohemian
you got order and you got wonder
it was the best, I thought, of both worlds
you had grandparents, friends, cool clothes and a PS2
you had all the material things I never had
you were cool
which at your age
I never was
part of me can't figure it out
but the part of me that knows you knows
it's that same part of me that knows that
even though I was not guilty of your death
that's not quite the same as being innocent
you know I was going through some shit back then
so I wasn't there for you
in the way that I normally was
in the way that you needed me to be
I know I disappointed you more than once
over those last 6 months
and so really I blame myself
for what happened
the bottom line is:
it was my job to protect you
to keep you safe
and I failed
the only thing I ever cared about in life
more than my writing
was being a good father to you
was I a good father to you?
You'll have to answer that question
you're the only one who can
my opinion?
I suppose,
yes, I was
most of the time
but not when it counted
anyway
we've been over all this before
the point of doing it all again
is that now I'm going to put it in a public forum
and label it poetry
I've been wrestling with the ethics of this
ever since I realized I was going to do it
usually when I write about you
I only show it to a handful of people
and the idea behind this
is that you are sacred
and therefore exempt
from exploitation
every other experience in my life
from painful break-ups to career implosions to random daily catastrophe
I think to myself
"hey,
at least I can get a good poem out of this"
I never wanted you to fall into that category
you are too important
you meant too much
I didn't want to pimp your memory
in this one thing
in this one lousy fucking thing
I wanted to not be a whore
on the other hand
I'm compelled to share with the world how fucking special you were
You were a unique and magical lifeform
Who touched everyone you touched
I was blessed by the gift of being your father
I'd hate to let anyone forget
you were the apex of my existence
(my raison d etre
if you'll allow me to be a douchebag
about it)
“thought of you as my mounaintop
thought of you as my peak
thought of you as everything
I had but couldn't keep”
And no one's ever seen me weep for you
but I weep for you
for a year after you died
I'd squeeze the syringe and pray
"God please kill me....
God,
please kill me."
The grief was water
It swamped my oars
Until I washed up on the shores
of strange and beautiful Moravia
Wish you were here, boy
We would have had a real good time
