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Searching (Part 3)

Before his death

Daddy promises me he would return from the afterlife

To prove to me that god is real

I don’t subscribe to such notions


I can admit that on

many a still night

dreamy emotion swirled through my

imaginations and hopes


I look for him

Hope for him

Open myself to abstract glimpses

willing to piece together the mundane nothings

to create clues of his presence

I listen carefully while

contouring the waking life and sleep

Maybe he’s somewhere in the middle

Maybe if I pretend not to hear him I will


Maybe we need to talk

There are things we still need to discuss

beyond this irrelevant death and god shit

things we need to iron out


Sometimes I can hear him call my name

Its only a dying earthbound echo of comfort and want

It’s been years now

There has been nothing

Nothing to flesh out my hopes

Nothing to flesh out his claims

just silence


but it was that one time....


Petty (Part 4)

... Yes that one time

A singular clue of the afterlife presented itself

on the very night Daddy died

Near my home

I see a woman who I have never seen before

She stands waiting

She is tethered to a delicate leash

On the end of that leash lives a more delicate dog

She hurries the dog along to do its business

She calls this dog Oliver

My father’s birth name is Oliver

This potential karma collard pet relies on a woman

for warmth

for food

for shelter

for protection

A woman who allows her pet

to lay at her feet and praise only her

A woman who has the power to incite fear with

angry voice and judgmental drumming finger

My father

short-leashed by “mere woman”

My father

reembodied in a delicate powerless existence

My father

being rushed through any of his business

Snipped from his primal nature and power

Bred away from his prized savagery

incarnated into this small insignificant sniveling


My father

The man I know

is a self-domesticated feral creature

If this dog is a sign of the afterlife for me to heed

god and heaven remains a mystery

But Hell

On the very night of Daddy’s death

Hell screeched of her existence

If there is a god

it is brilliantly petty

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