Miscreants and do-gooders, tyrants and heroes, welcome.

I invite you into my mind, not so you can dissect me,

but to see if you can find a valuable connection

among this madness. For you see life starts when the coin

drops and the image of your mother clutching your baby brother

no longer makes you warm inside. There was nothing warmer

then a child’s unexpected embrace. Tiny hands on broad

back muscles cooled the seething tension of unadulterated

spite and rage. Why did I say I was here again?

To make your soul scream and ache. The human mind

is made by arthritic hands shaky, insinuating madness,

beyond glass hips shattering again beneath a swollen heart

too heavy, dripping leftover blood from last night’s

uneaten steak diner. Love is a strong word.

One of which is not meant to be said with caution,

but often needs a glowing danger sign overhead to remind

you that humans as whole do not understand

their own emotions and never will. I ’ve always been attracted

to the word debris. Reeling me in with such subtlety,

I will never know why words with such a soft release

from the lips ache for escape. Sometimes I listen to cars drive

through puddles outside on the slightly dampened street.

The splash creates a sense of wanting and I love

the feeling of feeling. Sometimes I feel as though I have lost it.

Cascading down a rabbit hole, or waiting

for a pin to drop into a ditch you have dug,

you can estimate the time, but self doubt is a killer.

I know you don’t see me, but I’m inches away

from saying I adore you again. I guess this isn’t

a time to talk about that. I don’t believe fire hates

the cold. I believe he is afraid. Miscreants and

do-gooders when you put yourself on a pedestal

no matter how high or low you can always fall.