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the bravest sons our fathers dream. Nor do they always dream of us. We don't always recognize him if we have never seen his face. We are suspicious of strangers. Question: is he the one? in the decadence of forgetting. The vain act of looking the other way. Insisting there can be peace and fecundity without confrontation. The nagging question of blood hounds me. How do I honor it? our choice of angers, your domestic violence, my flaring temper. I wanted tenderness to belong to us more than food or money. The ghost of my wants is many things: lover, guardian angel, key to our secrets, the dogs we let sleep. The rhythm of silence we do not disturb. I give a fierce fire dance. The flames call me. It is safe. I leap unprepared to be brave. I surrender more frightened of being alone. I have to do this to stay alive. To be acknowledged. Fire calls. I slither to the flames to become birth. blisters around its edge, swallows our estranged years. They will never return except as frightening remembrances when we are locked in closets and cannot breathe or scream. of the black hole between us. The typical black hole. If we let it be it will widen enough to swallow us. Won't it? learning to live with less is less. I forstalled my destiny. I never wanted to be your son. You never made the choice to be my father. What we have learned from no text book: is how to live without one another. How to evade the stainless truth. Drug pain bleary-eyed. Harmless. Store our waste in tombs beneath the heart, knowing at any moment it could leak out. And do we expect to survive? What are we prepared for? Trenched off. Communications down. Angry in alien tongues. We use extreme weapons to ward off one another. Some nights, our opposing reports are heard as we dream. Silence is the deadliest weapon. We both use it. Precisely. Often. |
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About Standards |
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