Of all the things I will miss the most

Of all the things I will miss the most, I will miss…

It’ll be too much to count.

When the lights turn out.

How I love this pilgrimage!

The best things in life are shared. 

Hand in hand 

At the altar of pain and accomplishment

Brimming hearts, 

Lactic acid paralysis, together

Or alone in moments of austere beauty:

Swept up by some stalwart panorama.

Tears welling up from the blistering wind

Or my thumping gut:

Breathless and still.

Steeped in a spectacle, pristine 

There is no distance between

The truth, and how we wish to be seen. 

The hard-fought moment of seeing the thing as it is

Like saccharine spring water on the ill-conceived hike

The summer sweet, cleared air of bullied childhood memories.

God and joy wander in 

They wander in…

When the pleasure’s usurped by the sting.

Growth ALWAYS requires suffering

And I NEVER say ALWAYS.

But it’s always the little failures 

Stacked one on the other 

The scaffolding of some off-brand Divine Comedy

But I’m not going blind by candlelight

Na, when I loose my sight…

It’ll be tobacco, bourbon and spontaneous effigies 

All the gd sun and wind-worn eyes, welled.

How I love this pilgrimage!

Basil when I hold it to firmly

Accidental touches.

Virgin hand holds and belly fires.

The taste of my bride’s mouth agape

Her gentle answers

Her honest questions

Oh the nakedness

Of a groggy-eyed joke.

She plops down the unfinished stairs

Just after she woke.

We share a 5 second stare

Wild haired

“You look like Sonic.”

“The hedgehog?”

“No, more like a guy who likes to eat at Sonic.”

“Like Guy Fieri”

“Yes”

… ”S***”

Of all the things, I will break, the most, at the memories 

Moments forged by the ones I love the most.

All my ideologies will be nothing but ghosts.

The gristmill of time, leaves standing:

Sylvia’s toothless insults;

Emerson’s ardent devotion;

River’s unwarranted entertainment;

Kharissa’s unadulterated authenticity.

Ah, there is no better time to be alive than this moment.

You know what: 

I don’t think I’m ever gonna let the lights turn out.

Behind the paywall is a recording of me reading this poem.