King of Carrot Flowers

When you were young
You were the king of carrot flowers
And how you built a tower tumbling through the trees
In holy rattlesnakes that fell all around your feet

And your mom would stick a fork right into daddy's shoulder
And dad would throw the garbage all across the floor
As we would lay and learn what each other's bodies were for

And this is the room
One afternoon I knew I could love you
And from above you how I sank into your soul
Into that secret place where no one dares to go

And your mom would drink until she was no longer speaking
And dad would dream of all the different ways to die
Each one a little more than he could dare to try

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I didn't even go looking for something poignant and meaningful. It was, as these things always, always are, laid out and awaiting discovery. Stumbled across this when I was visiting his myspace today. Trite yet true.

Joel I can't claim to have known you well at all, but I will miss you. I will miss the process of getting to know you well, or better, or better than.

People dying and dissolving and taking flight. Or lying, or failing, or locked away. Or forgetting, nondreaming, losing themselves, losing one another. And I have headaches, and neckaches, and heartaches and soulaches. And I wonder how to tend better, how to notice, how to help/save/stitch the pieces back together, or find the pieces in the first place. And I wonder where the time went, where it drains and drips. How has so much slipped by? And what, oh what, oh what on earth, is next?

And I am not prone to pessimism, or dramatic dreariness, or hopelessness. But we seem to draw in disasters, or the disenfranchised, or the displaced. And they occasionally drown. And sometimes it is hard to not drown with them. But this is what loving people is. It is the mess and vicera and flesh and tears and blood and chance and hearts in hands and risk, risk, risk.

I can't imagine life being over already.