As I drink my whiskey

And remember their names

I long for their voices

And what that meant to me.

But I cannot live

Forever in the past

Annihilating my self

To merge with the dead

As if I could live their dreams.

Their memory is safe with me

Burned in my bones

Like the first time I saw a topless woman in Africa

It is not a question of holding on

It will always be there

Until my body turns to dust.

So I will drink my whiskey

And remember their names

And their voices

And what that means to me

Knowing that their memory

Is not a weight to carry,

But rather a foundation on which to build…

And I know they would like this whiskey.


Winter Sun

The sun has risen in this winter

Bringing light with little heat

The daybreak wills the night to splinter

And this, the aching starting feat.

The light reveals such devastation

And still it is so bitter cold

I bend my knees to God’s salvation

And listen as the tale unfolds.


If I imagine


As having different tanks

Like a car

That requires multiple different fuels

I have this tank

Of love

And another

Of acceptance

And another

Of purpose

And another of hope

I find that all the possible tanks

Are never all filled

And I might have to drain one

To fill another.

Do I ever get to feel

A day or night in that high dream

What it’s like to be

With all the tanks all full?