Tragedy to Treasures

(read the first lines slow, then the paragraphs fast, is how I flowed it.)

All the sudden he got you.

All the sudden he shot you.

All that sudden I’m watchin.

All the sudden the cops in.

But not before Dad’s dead.

Took two shots to his fucked head.

38 and I’m seein red.

Pool of blood around your head.

Mother’s day up in Buckhead (GA, ’83)

It becomes about my head.

Way to young is what they said.

But they weren’t in the shit. Didn’t see what I saw. Didn’t feel what I felt. They were tryin to help. Lookin in on the hell, didn’t hear the death bell and The ring in my ears.

Just imagine the weight that I held. And hold. Gotta be bold to move on with that tragedy. See? Without out them (parents). 7. What’s heaven? That’s where they went right?

Or did dad go to hell? And, am I like my dad? All these questions I had. No choice but move on. And that moment was gone. But now stuck in my head. Always. Brutal, to move through it. With it. Horse shit. Pissed off. God’s fault…or a while.

So many days. Just in a haze. Felt I didn’t belong. Joe, you gotta be strong, as you movin along. And it all just seemed wrong. Robbed from my mom.

Acceptance was the way. But, even now, not sure I accept it. Still like, what the fuck was all that shit. No way to know Dad but as sick.

I Just know it’s still with me. And I’m blessed to have had love around me, from that moment on. Thanks mom(s) and Pop. Thanks family and friends and everyone.


The stripes stand out,

But they better be Looking.

Unnoticed; no-head-start

You can call it a Booking;

An appointment to kill his prey in Wait.

Once-he has the jump

It’s-already too-late.

What Could Have Been

I knock on doors, a lot.

Sometimes no one’s home.

Often, someone’s home, but doesn’t hear me knocking.

Often too, someone’s home, but chooses not to open the door. I wonder about these people and their reasons for not opening the door, and I move on wondering about the missed window of opportunity for myself and for those who chose not to open the door.

Coyote at the Edge

Within and beyond the fence.

At the edge of the forest I stand, in part.

Confused by where I stand.

Confused about where I’ve been, and unsure of where I’m going.

Trusting though enough in myself and in life; believing that I am safe and will find my way into the light; be it the open field, where I’m exposed, or through the forest; uncertain and often dark where hope is not a guarantee; where return is not a given.