For my daughter

It was eventually bound to happen as do all inevitable things. She was not so much as ten seconds old, right after her first cries and just before they handed me a pair of shears to snip the umbilical cord that I knew this would happen and when it did, my heart turn to dust and fall into a deep abyss, wherein merciless flames would carbonize and solidify with an influx of oxygen infusing thus and raising this hapless conglomeration towards the sun, in a burnt offering to the eight million God/desses of man in an enflamed plea to gain one scintilla of wisdom, a scosche clearer perception as to how to proceed with this inevitable juncture of passage so that I may not fade or withdraw but instead act with courage in this hour of trial. 

But here I stand before God and all, one man alone, trying like bloody hell to be the best father one imperfect human can be, fingers upon my sword, gaze unblinking upon the boy who asked my daughter to go with him to the homecoming dance.  

If you don't understand the profundity of this moment, then you are obviously not the father of a daughter in this modern world or you're not paying the least bit of attention or your alcohol poisoning induced coma hasn't worn off yet or you're a childless idiot who died sixty bazillion years ago and doesn't understand the priorities of the particular humanoids in possession of something called a 'dick' (which almost always gets them into trouble) and who tango around and through the psychological booby traps of a  'Carmen Electra will fuck you silly if you buy this after shave lotion' kind of world and yes I know I'm writing in hideously long run on sentences but this is my kid we're talking about!

It's such a battle and I'm only at the fringes. She is one of the best people I've ever known and I'm her dad. I wrote the following poem for her years ago when she was a wee little blondie toe headed princess who would take my hand and lead me to wherever she thought I needed to go. Be it to push her on the swings or play with her dolls, she was the best playmate I ever had and now, thankfully, in spite of my worst wishes, she is growing up and becoming a lovely young woman. I only hope I can do as much for her on the father side of the equation.

For my daughter, in the future

In this forever

nothing lasted

Perhaps in the next

we will find 

some permanence

Emancipation from change

that prevented your stay

in my life

but not in my heart

The hair of your head

shines radiant gold

shimmering halos

reveal your mischief

as the trials and dreams

of a young girl

Looking back

from this now

at a future unpassed

do I relish your dance

and your voice

Angel wings

create breeze

and kiss my cheek

as you pass

like the days

too soon gone

Thank you for reading.

Hug those little ones for as long as they'll let you.

All my love always,

Max

'swimming nekkid' (never never never)

There can be dredged up in me such levels of anger and compassionless rage. But there are some crimes that we as humans cannot adequately punish. Therefore that task is best left to God, whatever you perceive that to be. 

That said, there are some acts and perpetrations, to my perception, especially when inflicted upon children that when I hear about it, I have to fight like hell the urge to cast a seriously venomous hoodoo upon those who use children as chess pawns in their poisoned and diseased sexual conquests.

Being a Libra, the idea of injustices heaped upon those unable to defend themselves raises up in my cauldron a response to the audacity of the perverse and the cruelty of the ignorant to pull the lynchpin from the precarious bridge they tread while I laugh like Satan when their wickedness falls upon the sharp rocks and slathers upon the copal, abbreviating their corrupted and demonic song. 

When the innocent are victimized, the oppressors, in me, have gained an enemy. 

We were both seven years old. He would come to my house after school to play. One day we went into the forest behind my childhood home. Here he forced me to take off my clothes, lay face down in the red wagon we had pulled together and then to say quiet and never tell anyone while he sodomized me with a broken tree branch. I cried softly while he raged. When we got back home, I exploded and told him to go home and never come back. My mother told me to 'be nice to him, he is your friend'. She never knew what had happened that day. I never told her.

Later that week, in school, during show and tell, after the rest of us had finished showing and telling about our model airplanes, sewing projects and pinch pots, he stood up and said he and his father would 'go camping together' and sometimes they would 'go swimming nekkid' and then go back to the tent where his father would 'fuck' him 'up the ass'.

The entire universe came to a screeching halt.

Not a sound was made until our teacher said to him, '*****, that's a family secret. We don't tell our family secrets in show and tell. Now children, let's not tell anyone about *****'s family secret that he told us today. That's not what show and tell is for. 

As long as I live, I will never forget that.

This poem was initially sparked by the 2008 case of Josef Fritzl. A monster in human form, who kept his daughter Elisabeth prisoner for 24 years in a makeshift dungeon beneath his home in Austria. During this time, she was continually raped while children were born, miscarried, lived and died all while wrapped in his evil. When I heard of the case, I turned off the news, sat at the kitchen table and titled a page with the words 'An Open Letter to Joseph Fritzl from the Soul of Your Daughter'. The piece that follows in a profusely edited and mercifully abridged version of the 20 plus pages of rage, tears, curses and prayers and that purged out of me that night while pounding my fist on the table, screaming and sobbing for his daughter as well as any and all that bear the scars from the scourges of this realm of hell. 

never never never

Claws prepared

for bloodletting

lying in wait 

for my rapist to arrive

in whatever guise

the bastard may assume

You who cannot succumb

to the altar of equilibrium

I will suck you in

with my subservience

that has you lost

among the weeds

of your thoughts

I place further voodoo

upon you

my sweet nemesis

hear my voice

as you rape me

your life is mine

I drain you 

like the vampire

you have made of me

If I spit in your mouth

I know you will return

to bow unto me

as you beat me

in the dungeon 

of your own creation

of which you cannot escape

I leave you to sleep

in your own feces

until our next bout

when I die

you come

I convulse

you forsake

I beget

you retract

I lay silent

on this pillow

dreaming of God

you lie shivering

upon granite

fretting about the hell

where I will haunt you

Your greatest conquest

and defeat

a child 

such as me

the sex of your rage

the violence of your semen

leaving me impregnated

in  a sweat and bloody acceptance

of who I must be

and how I must live

beyond and above

your thoughts

wrath, charm, venom and scandal

You will behold me

as an apparition

a scolding spirit

a long and sustained scream

you will wish

you had never invoked

but was, is and will be

beyond the creation

of your perverse reality

where you found  me

to slash and choke

until now

I will haunt you

and you shall

never

never

never

exorcise me.

Thank you for reading,

Many blessings and all my love always,

Max

Poetry, my love...

"Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead."

Charles Bukowski

I don't know why I care so much about poetry as I do. It's not like I'll ever make any money writing avant garde verses and deconstructed stanzas, thumbing my nose at conventional pentameter, attempting to make relevant a form of writing usually predisposed as masturbatory fodder for dickless academics, pissed upon romantics, cerebrally engorged ganja huffing losers, weepy eyed bisexually curious terminally angry art school dropouts and your seriously uncool grandma.

Still, I can't turn away or leave the damn stuff alone. It's like swiss chocolate dipped in cocaine and surreptitiously drizzled over Angelina Jolie's breasts. I just can't help myself but to seek out, uncover, become immersed, feast and devour with reckless abandon.

I suppose it's because I have no choice. Like Son House wailing the blues across the Mississippi Delta between beatings, like Anais Nin screaming while miscarrying before her heartless midwife or like the time I felt my small family on the verge of fracture and I heard 'The Desiderata' for the first time and it saved my 8 year old life. Or when I read the writings of Harry Crews and Arthur Rimbaud and I learned how to properly stand up and say 'Fuck You' with the eloquence of Shakespeare and the resolve of iron. Or when I first gazed upon the Mona Lisa and Guernica and my eyes beheld poetry distilled into visual ambrosia. Or the first time I smoked a huge spliff on a long road trip and heard Beethoven's Pastoral Symphony. I slowly came to realize that it's all poetry that surrounds us. From the laughter of children to the sighs and moans following orgasm. 

We sing because we suffer, because we revel, because we are alive and we can, because we must, because without this...

"the whole shithouse goes up in flames."

Jim Morrison

When Leonardo sat on the hill

dreaming of flight

filling his sketch books

with wing movements

aerodynamic assumptions

probability theories

devoid of disaster

is when Picasso

crash landed his pigments

into my retina

blinding me to stoic grid works

filling with deconstructed kaleidoscopes

thrown hell all to the wind

is when Mozart exploded

into my aorta

seizing from me breath

absconding with wings

I had earmarked

to traverse mediocrity

They poised me on a precarious ledge

and sneezed

orchestrating my disintegration

abstracting my skull

on the sidewalk below

preventing all else

that dared encroach

upon the unpoisioned realm

of my infant perception

I became Galarina

and made love

to Salvador Dali

upon a soft timeless canvas

I kissed Michelangelo good night

After caressing his tortured spine

blessing him with olive oil

and the 91^st psalm

easing his painful writhing

derived from exhausting sessions

depicting ascensions of cherubim

leaving him spent

to dream of his next revelation

to be rendered

across fresco skies

of the Sistine chapel

Painting our fingertips

so close to the divine

across the divide

the mural disintegrating

into dust of the stars

perfuming the heavens

with song

A labyrinth of freedom unfolded

as Jackson Pollack danced

spilling his whiskey

in the most exquisite splattering

ever commissioned by God

Let’s all drink blessed wine

until sunrise

painting refractions

of purple, gold and pink

across the ink washed indigo horizon

staring wide eyed

into the rising orb

as our Nirvanas collide 

we satyrs and angels

applauding the coming of new dawn

and celebrating death

of the old decrepit  sciences

meditating with reverence

in anticipation

of the impending 

explosion

I take great joy in writing.

Thank you for reading.

All my love always,

Max

I had popped some amphetamines with my morning coffee, smoked a joint to take the edge off and snorted several lines of cocaine so that I wouldn’t get stupid. After all, this was going to be a busy morning and I needed all my wits about me. There was meat to be portioned, dough to be kneaded, veg to be chopped, mushrooms to be simmered, tomato sauce to concoct and garlic bread, Jesus fucking Christ, garlic bread to be sliced, buttered, stuffed with cheese, wrapped in foil and placed in bins of 36 and the fucking garlic wasn’t even chopped yet when the back doorbell rang. I didn’t have time for whatever the fuck this shit was commanding my attention at the ass end of the restaurant. There was prep to be done, lunch customers to be fed, irresponsible pot headed waitresses to contend with, a jagoff night manager who was desperately begging to be chewed a new asshole and don’t get me started on that son of a bitch head line cook on the night shift. That useless bastard can still to this day kiss the hell out of my fucking ass. Not that I was bitter or anything…..

But I digress….

I opened the delivery door and see standing silhouetted in early morning rays, this….. dude, this big, taller than me, goofy, smiling and happy as shit, skinny as a pipe cleaner (weren’t we all back then?) dude and he opens his way too cheerful pie hole in my general direction and says ‘Hi, I’m Jeff. I’m supposed to come in and help you today. Tomorrow too.’ Come the fuck on in and grab your damn self an apron, I thought. It’s not like I’m overwhelmed or anything.

At this moment, my illicit drug intake was at an all-time high. My father lay in the hospital, suffering from a series of massive strokes, vacillated in and out of ICU for what was now going on four months. My mother, every day upon my return home, was an emotional wreck. Her former mindless unintentional cruelties had since turned to tearful pleas for me to not move out and leave her alone. I was 17. I remember those days like it was last week and I still sometimes fall to pieces recalling it all in spite of the fact that it was over thirty years ago, I sit at the keyboard misting up as I type.

Much metaphorical water has passed beneath the proverbial bridge since then. Births of the innocents, passings of the ancestors, weddings of much promise, unjustified damnable illnesses, much regretted divorce, decreasing of hairlines, increasing of waistlines and other unavoidable fluctuations of fortune. Amidst the pereniality of change that befalls us all, some things remain constant. The increasing gratitude I nurture for his priceless friendship and the invincibility of his sense of humor seem to be at the forefront.

The poem that follows is self-explanatory. What does however seem to continue to befuddle, at least for me, is what I have done to deserve such a blessing as to continue to receive his friendship and presence in my life.

I was in the process

of answering emails

when he called

the doctor said

it’s cancer again

radical treatments

he would undergo

in order to prevail

and my heart broke

silently

tones of reassurance

passed my lips

until I hung

the thousand pound phone

the hell up

then I collapsed

at the injustice

poor timing

of the powers that be

the unreality

of his next battle

warrior of him

that set forth

a spirit

of invincible humor

when I thought

I would drown

in my depression, anxiety

and self loathing

he threw me a rope

a laugh

at a charmed moment

and saved me from suicide

that I will never forget

or be able to repay

I have found such solace

in his friendship

this son of a bitch

who saved me

from my own hand

more times

than he will know

I said my prayers

worked my voodoo

and filled my wineglass

with tears

of joy, sorrow and gratitude

for my friend

that the old me

would say

I don’t deserve

Thank you for reading,

It means more than you know.

I wish for you all a friend as great as he has been for me and continues to be.

All my love always,

Max

'Ms Zili is much pleased'

The point of any of this is to remind each other that we are not alone. That this life is not a protracted suicide. There is one for each of us who is our twin. There is a great mirror seen from space known as the waters. Wherein we bathe, we sail, we drown and behold its glistening mosaic shards of moonlight or sunbeam capriciously dancing upon its veneer. A gracious and sometimes furious reflection to her brother, the sky and his alternating vapors of crystal and liquefied coal, anointing with solar flares and pricked with distant puddles of forgotten light. The geometry of the stars opposes not the the clear light and broad brush stroke of the sun. Together it culminates in a ballet of equilibrium of which Libra would be proud. Rendering itself in my wine glass upon this sacred midnight and across the tapestry of oceans I had the blessing to swim.
This is a poem of adoration to one of my patrons, the Voudon lwa Ezili Freda. She basically equates to Venus or Aphrodite and rules over arts, beauty and love. She as well as Obatala; Papa Legba; Archangel Michael; Asaliah, an angel whose name I love and council I cherish; my source of wisdom, the Buddha; my savior, Jesus Christ, the eight million Gods of man and innumerable rays of divine light help me to realize the unfolding miracle of life. When I first wrote is poem, I sent it to two priestesses for their consideration. Of all their kind words of response, my favorites were 'Ms Zili is much pleased'.
Lizzie’s River

To swim in Lizzie’s river
is to lap like waves
at the shore
Kisses tender
upon her royal lips
Shades, hues and refractions
on her surface are vapid
compared to her depths
Caressing her hips
naked below mine
her water flows to the ocean
My heart erupts
with the swiftness
of her currents
laughing away
the fears of my world
she sweeps me
into her folds
Great mother ocean
is in her heart
We spill upon the land
like lovers reunited
anointing the earth
with nectar and seed
When I swim in Lizzie’s river
the mirror of her flesh
reflects bright clouds
divine rays
and my humble God given place
among them
From the channels
to the shallows
swimming in Lizzie’s river
brings bells silver and gold
flights of angels
soft trumpets beneath my skin
throbbing in her warmth
compassion and love
Her arms carry me
beneath the surface
revealing puddles of light
left behind
by previous lovers
of whom we share
breath that surrounds her
whispering come away
live as her love
in this ancient land
She feeds me wine and fruit
from her supple breast
I in my nudity
decline all else
but to suck the juice
of her love
into my soul
through the pores of my flesh
til I be full
as full will be
Yet I hunger still
to swim in Lizzie’s river
caress her banks
ride her rapids
challenging all
to love her as much as I do
With no explanation
or cause for alarm
I decide to die
in a suffocated scream
so that I may be reborn
cry, breathe, crawl, walk
relearn me
all over again
to feel
the great desire
like never before
like a virgin
in innocence to explore
discover and decide
to plunge into her depths
and swim in Lizzie’s river
again falling in love
like the last time
after blessed time and time again
until finally
I feel Lizzie swimming in me
Making me pregnant
swelling until I scream
being turned inside out
to reveal the life
until now unknown
I change my direction
to smile upon
what we have created
and turn this charm
loose upon the surface
of the waters
watching its’ journey flow
beneath the stars
to merge into the ocean
to be a drop
in the pool
where we dip our hands
to wash the face of God.

Thank you for reading.
With all my love always,
Max　

Before I launch into the preamble and subsequent poetry, I must say something. My recent writings have greatly angered someone. Of everyone it would be my honor to piss the fuck off, this person is not one of them. Not even slightly at all. It's someone for whom I wish all the best life has to offer. Regardless of who is to blame, irresponsible, over reacting or whatever ugliness can be extracted, I hope this storm soon passes and we can please be friends, or at least, not enemies.

This will probably be the last blog I post that has to do with sexuality. The point will have been  been made. I either need to move on or shut the fuck up.  

It starts like this...

The old joke about bisexuality is that you double your chances for a date on Saturday night. The sad part is that it seems we are twice as much a target for intolerance and hatred.
I have been told by members of the gay community that I need to come to the conclusion that I'm gay. I'm not. That I'm a hypocrite and in denial.  I'm not. 

That I'm not being true to the 'family'. Whose family are we talking about and why am I suddenly adopted? 

I have been told by members of the straight community that it's us goddamn bisexuals who are responsible for the spread of AIDS from those heathen ass fucking queers into the pristine vaginas of God fearing maidens. 

According to some, we are the downfall of civilization. 

Even after nearly 24 years of monogamy, to some, I am still to be counted among Satan's henchmen. 

For me at least, bisexuality is not a choice. it is who I am and was born to be. I used this predisposition to make double and triple damn sure that when I settled down, it would be with the love of my life.

Genitals be damned, I prayed for real eternal love. 

My detractors are as of now,left with bigotry, hatred and derision. Call me whatever names you wish. Curse me as you see fit. But guess who wakes up next to the answer to their prayers and who flails about, looking to find the pieces of their soul in a fog of ignorance?

Thus ends the preamble

This blog feels rough around the edges. Much like me at this moment. The poem that follows, I've never found the right place for it. It's rough around the edges too. Probably that's why I love it so much. It goes like this...

Tonight I heard
a song of remembrance
once new
when we first met
and I knew I loved you

It spoke of old times
and loves long gone
I was convinced
it was about you and I
how great and eternal our love
then like things
to my mind
it went away
and the only love
I had known
vanished like all else
that ever told me
I should continue to live
leaving me
in familiar desperation
alone with my demons

The orgy I knew
all too well
would resume
once you
as did all lights
fade and recede
from my undeserving life
and I would write
stupid poetry
commemorating the loss
of your life
from mine

Two decades have passed
since I would scream
in my car driving home
blinded by heat
and my young mans anger
quenched only by you
with the moon in your hair
breezes dancing about your face
the porch light romance
leading me ultimately
to your bed

where we played
while I prayed

we give life
to our children

We endure
no matter what
for me always
to rise casting eyes
upon your face
never far from the grace
you have bestowed
upon me
is my memory

For as old
as we may grow
there is no hand
I could hold
for eternity
but yours
for as much
as you pulled me
from the brink of death
do I hope I
have done
a fraction as much
for you
then I will have achieved
a particle of the eternity
you have gained
saving me away
from myself
the deep pit

and the strained levitation
that had been planned
since before my inception
I would fall
like all my sad ancestors
before me

I was never permitted
their luxury to fail and die
with a weak promise of potential
never realized but excused
because a sensitive artisan
in the midst of a cruel world
cannot survive and by default
must die miserably

FUCK THAT

I WILL NOT DIE

because I know love
and how it feels and smells
when it saves your life
even when you have since
cast it out the damn door

In spite of it all
love is speaking
even 

if we’re not listening
I will continue
until we remember
until we remember
I will pray

for us all
until we remember.

Again, thank you so much for reading,

it means more to me than I can tell you

All my love always,

Max

On the Beach in Ancient Greece

My only regret is that I had my first sexual experience at entirely too young of an age. Unable to grasp the gravity of intimacy, too innocent realize we were losing our innocence. All I knew was that we had the place to ourselves for the next few hours and if we didn't act upon what had been simmering, there would be an explosion, leaving in its wake a lifetime of asking the unsolvable questions 'why didn't we? ....what were we scared of?.... what if I could go back and do it over again?' I would rather regret something I have done than something I haven't and I could frankly give a fuck less how others judge me. Then there are some things of which I have no regret and the only response I have to any criticism, rebuking, ignorant judgmental conclusions start with 'Fuck' and end with 'You' and contain precious little else in between. My first time was with a dear friend that continued on for the following couple of years, someone I still correspond with to this day. Someone who I have never kept a secret and who will never fade into the cacophony of anonymous trysts lost somewhere in the drug induced haze of my misspent youth. I believe that when someone in whatever capacity holds a cherished place in my heart, I will, in no uncertain terms, make sure they know how much they mean to me and how sacred their stanzas and parables are that adorn the verses of my life. I will also upon occasion, when the stars and clouds offer the perfect acoustics, climb to the rooftops and sing about it.

On the Beach in Ancient Greece

I laid my head

upon his stomach

in innocence

his sweat swelling

in my mouth

I felt him laugh

and stroke my hair

while I drank

that which

I never imagined

I would crave

Penetrating him

with a gasp

lasting only seconds

but enduring to this day

I spilled a thousand lives

upon his skin

in a single second

He was a boy then

and I a babe

fiercely anointing each other

with the friction of youth

Hard at the thought

of his body

and mine intertwined

two boys

kissing the mysteries

never as long as I wished

but always amazed

at how he endured me

shuttering and surrendering

in a shower of joy

excusing myself for impatience

ashamed of my exuberance

apologizing for my need to explode

We were such taboo

laughing at myself

smiling upon his beauty

ageless and timeless

as the vision of him 

pressed upon my hungry body

inflicting lovely pain

then caressing me softly

speaking in sweet tones

of silent waves

washing over me

on the beach

in ancient Greece

where we met

those lifetimes ago

Warriors in the battle

for the love

we were always in

carved in marble

for the ages

engorged and entwined

for all eternity

baptizing his beauty

with my sighs

and frozen convulsions

waiting endlessly

for time to melt

the stone to wash away

and my love

to return

As always, thank you for reading. It is appreciated more than you will ever know.

All my love,

Max

The Athiest Prayed

For as deeply as I hated my father, I never lost sight of how fiercely I loved him. He could be the wittiest, most intelligent and charming gentleman one could ever wish to spend the hours with. He had an old school style of manners and conversation that has sadly become a lost art in this increasingly snarky, bitter and indifferent society. This world of ours was not his and he would be shattered at what we are, insensitive empty urns, I pray we are not becoming. For all of his faults, prejudices and transgressions, for all of his hatred and racism, for his insults and abuse, I could never bear to see him watching the world today and know that underneath his strained veneer, all of his heart would be forever broken. The wounds he spent his life trying to hide, trying to justify, trying to drown in vodka would be ripped open with no hope of regeneration and closure. For this reason, I am grateful, both for he and I, that he is dead. For as far apart as we grew as souls, as poisoned as we became as father and son, he was and will always be my first hero. Where he is now, he will never fall off his horse, lose grip of his sword and his armor will shine forever free of chinks.

The Atheist Prayed

The night my father prayed

please keep my son

out of the military

he wept

on the edge of his bed

please the atheist prayed

keep my son

out of the army

please to thin air

he prayed

keep my son

from the torture

from the

I have become.

Whosoever desires his company

in acts of genocide

should be damned

he prayed

from the trench

he left fifty years hence

but never left behind

until the day he died.

The mud

ensnared his feet

the gangrene

upon him crept

the pox

infiltrated

the savior

he dismissed

All alone he prayed

from within

his blanket of alcohol

for those who tread

the path of the warrior

in place of blind cowards

who rattle sabers

then run away

who pledge allegiance

then desert

who love the war

and discard the warriors

be damned he prayed

Under his wings

is where it ends

What we have constructed

is where it begins

We create our own destiny

When our children

walk away from our headstones

will they recall

what we created

and destroyed

why?

for who?

and what

we have left behind.

Good night, Dad

your war is done.

Sweet peace

in your dreams.

Until next time and always

All my love,

Max

By The Grace

Looking myself in the eye for the last time in a mirror strewn with cocaine, straw deep in my nostril, inhaling sharply, I stopped in mid snort and said ‘you know what, I’m done’. Perhaps it had something to do with my partner in crime saying something about the deplorable conditions in coca leaf processing plants. Like how rats sometimes fall into the vats of coca leaves and the poor motherfuckers who work there don’t give a shit if you snort ground up rats. Quality control in cocaine manufacturing it seems is somewhat lax. I said, ‘you finish it pal, I’m done’. He thanked me profusely and snorted away like there would be no tomorrow.

We walked outside into the ridiculous July humidity of a South Florida midnight. Jittering and babbling, we chain smoked and talked about the future. Plans and dreams, money and fame to be made, taken and ridden doggy style until the globe was awash with our ectoplasm and blood. Magnanimously we anointing the ill illumined huddled masses with our brilliance. Then the buzz started to wear off.

My heart felt like wet tissue being force fed from a fire hose. Capillaries in my brain were like tangled fishing line caught in a propeller. I got in the car and prayed I could make it home so that I could at least die in my bed. I needed Valium and a bottle of wine so fucking bad but I had no more money and barely any gas in the tank. The heavens in my skull were spinning cyclones and my rapid breath became pants pissingly shallow. I chanted repeatedly, why am I here again?, why am I here again?, why am I here again? Stupid, stupid, stupid. When are you going to learn? What is it going to take? 

I made it back to my parent’s house. Went to my room, took off my clothes, turned out the lights, wrapped myself in blankets I though may well become my death shroud and laid upon my bed. I closed my eyes and fell into a collapse between sleep and wake. I became aware of two warring factions of rats within the walls of our house. There had been much hatred and bloodshed. So many rat mommies and babies left without their daddies. So many rat limbs lost in battle. So many left to die in the rafters, cursing their forsaking thankless absent rat god, skeletons littering the spaces between layers of gypsum and timber. So many rat psyches tattered and raped forever as they bore innocent witness to the atrocities of war. It culminated in one universal rat epiphany:

IT”S ALL MAX’S FAULT! KILL HIM!

I broke out of my trance with strangled scream. I smoked more cigarettes and fell into a fitful sleep. Therein I do believe I then met the Devil. Not just my own demons, but the Devil as it appears when it wants to consume each one of us, in a form most personally seductive and beautiful to its object of prey at a given moment. Somehow I found the strength in that moment to not become Satan’s midnight snack and consequent morning shittings.

Somehow, in spite myself and addictive tendencies, I found the truth.

After many years, I wrote this poem about that night. About the lover and friend I lost to that evil drug. It is called ‘By The Grace’

The night

the rats

in the walls told me

it was time

to stop doing cocaine

came just before

the morning the Devil

taunting me in a dream

in which she tried

to seduce and intimidate

but I fired back

with the 23^rd psalm

at 4:15 a.m.

Just before breakfast

the marsh was quiet

and the bible became my friend

on the day

that started too early

but began

almost too late

for my heart

to survive

my companions

failed suicide.

Her arms and her neck

I would cuddle no more

but speak

at a distance

to her ghost

that dwelled

within her skin

torn by ropes

unseen by all

except me.

I said

there but by the grace go I

and there she

goes away from me

with the coming of the dawn

the lie recedes

the dream

blends into day

and the night

thank God

is over.

Until next time,

All my love always,

Max