A Thousand Years From Now

A year ago today, we received the call,
lived the nightmare.
A year ago today, our lives changed forever,
lost much of its luster.
A thousand years from now,
that day will still tarnish my memory.

Song of Dave

This is the point of diminishing returns,
where the poignant insights no longer soothe but sting,
where the profundity of words simply withers,
where a howl of sorrow is no longer heard.

Might as well finish it here,
while there’s still a chorus to sing
and a lone cricket to carry the song.

The song, you see, no longer contains words
     or a tune.
It’s somewhere between here and eternity.
It’s only seen on the lines of my face.

This is the song of Dave:
The last breath of a man who lived,
of a son and a brother
     who died.

Maybe someone later will carry the song,
but for now only my face will bear it,
     with some help from my cricket friend.
We together will carry it up the hills of Golgotha.

The lines of my face,
     deep furrows of pain,
          will blaze the path.

5/27/11

Going to that Place

There’s no way of going to that place,
of following him through those dark corridors.
You have to just let go, and try to catch one last glimpse
   that inevitably comes in the form of a photograph.

That photo doesn’t contain the solace of words;
   its stripped of personal quirks,
of laughter,
   of throw-stuff-across-the-room anger.

That photo doesn’t call unexpectedly
   for a spur-of-the-moment question.

You let go as you let go of a child,
   hoping she will thrive in a cold environment
and always wear the badge of her upbringing:
   Your body of work.

You let go, with some pride but with some sorrow, too.
You try not to cry as she braces herself for the world
   and you brace yourself for the solitude.

When you do cry
and the tears have run out,
   you just smile because--
that’s really all you have left.

Everything

Death
       Nothing
Life
       Everything
His soul
       Gone
Where?
       Don't know.

4/26/11

The Answer

How do you put into words something like this?
How do you even formulate it into a thought?
How do you experience and live it?
How do you wake up every day and face that reality?

The answer is simple:
You just do.

You can cry a river and that won't bring him back.
You can indulge in pity and melancholy but that won't resurrect him.
Dave is gone;
somewhere out there in the void,
which might just contain heaven.

Dave is a butterfly frozen in time,
a hummingbird frozen in tar.

I look to my oldest brother and he tells me,
"Dave lives in our hearts,
that's the only way we can feel him.
Memories are only holograms."
But goddamn,
sometimes it seems like that's all I've got.

But I do feel him in the cool air of night;
in fact, it is just that: a chill.
A reminder that Dave existed in spacetime.

I try to keep him on my phone,
but find his image hard to look at.
So much beauty and manhood,
only to be cut steeply.

I go on, dragging these demons behind me,
anchored to them like Prometheus.
And I look at the supernova
that was his life--and then I smile.

Other than that, I just do
the only thing I can do:
Carry on.

2/15/11
　

Tarantula

I had a tarantula
Named of all names, Goliath
(that was my ex-girlfriend’s whim).
Goliath died not long ago.
His conqueror, Dave, my brother,
Also died not long ago,
But before Goliath.
But while Goliath withered, then died,
Dave died explosively.
Quiet now are the empty moments,
Lost opportunities, forebears not to be.
Goliath only left an oblivious legacy.
3/25/11

Untitled

What does it mean to be you?
--Dead, gone--
Really, invisible--

What does this mean?

Do you speak?
Or do you emerge from shadows?
Or do you vibrate?
Or do you listen?

Crystallized at 27.
How does that feel?
Is there a secret in death?

And is that secret that what waits
beyond is better than what stands here before us?

I quietly await response.

3/1/11

All I Want

I stand in your bedroom,
   trying to think your thoughts
      when you slept and dreamed here.

In this room
you formulated your worldview
and became a giant among men.

Here you played the guitar and serenaded sweethearts.

Here you labored late, studying your ass off for exams whose purposes never came to full fruition.

Here you shed your boyhood and became a man.

I would trade a lifetime and eternity
   to hear you have sex again,
      to hear you fiddle and fight with your girlfriend.
Even though these things
bothered me to death when you were alive.

I wanna knock on your door again and give you the money I owed you.
I wanna turn the knob again, only to discover that your door is locked.

I'm a little sadistic,
   but really I just want
my brother back.

We don't know what we have till it's gone.
2/21/11

Stanzas

In a black night of stars and ocean,
I seek a pillow face with oranges
I ride on a cloud of bitter indulgence
I seek and I ride through clouds of dream

Dave was a round potato man
Easyontheeyes Greek god
Do I seek him or has he found me?
Where do the gods sleep?

More like Odysseus, mortal man
But cunning, good in brain kudos
Sailed back from green storms,
Once again a father.

Dave will never be a father now,
Nor a husband. In some other
Wrinkle in space, far past
Nebulae shaped like bagels

He ripens and withers,
I can only hope. That may mean
That in some other dark cosmos
I have died a young man,
Never to reach my gray descent.

Mere mortal, Daedalus drowned in flight.

2/14/11

Untitled

That day we rumbled through suburb
on that Uhaul truck,
we talked of movies celebrities pipedreams
You were so put-together,
so my bigger brother.

What did you try to teach me
when you tore your back to show me
your vibrant manhood,
and essential brotherhood?

That message, whatever it is,
is not lost on me.
I want this day back,
no hologram.
I want me in that shortsleeved
Guitar Hero tee,
And Dave
   Shuffling,
      Joking,
         Helping me lift a couch.

I want the sodas at the end,
rewards after a long day
of exhibiting at its very finest
our brute strength. So cold and fizzly
after a long day of sweat and cumber.
　
2/13/11

Ghosts of Dave

They come to me at all times, during all moments.
They come in different visages, angelic and demonic.
Apparitions real as the stars.

They waft up and down the walls of my bedroom.
They whisper to me when I smoke
They cuddle me while I sleep
They rouse me early in the morning, surreal deja-vus.

Rise, fly, then waft back down.
Such is their nature.
Like his life: The rise and fall of King Dave.

I'd intimated this when I spoke to Sana
and Patrick
and when I showered
I intimated his ghosts.
They appear now,
staring through mirrors this time,
multiplied,
at home.

12/30/10