Mack

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They say the old man was cursed. They say he was possessed. Those who knew him, the them, that were witness to... um... they said... uh... Those that were there, said they saw him... said they had seen... ummm. He was really bad and scary and old and a bunch of people said so!

It was a lie. Perhaps, one I told myself. An imagining, an assumption, a hunch I made. Old men don't weep! Strength and stoicism must grow in equal measure with wrinkles and greys. A dirty lie! Now, at this wizened age... I weep. Sorrow hits like a freight train. Oh yes, I weep.

My weary lungs, full of dust Sisyphean days, Cali or bust Hard tack and spuds 3 times a day Motor oil coffee, no sugar they say A cot is offered, 4 windowless walls I sleep outside cause it's hot as balls Mama writes, you're living in hell Tells my babies I'm keeping them well

Guess what I'm about to launch!?!?

I cast myself into the sea My heart and bone and blood A thing that is but wicked meat An empty husk, a writhing shell This final act, an offering Let me fade into the depths Endless days fall away A million moments gone I return as a breaking wave A graceful etching on stone

Forever did the dead wind grow Barren now is the world below We hide on the mountain, the last of us A hidden oasis surrounded by dust There be nothing left beyond our peak The Oracle warns, we must never seek Yet here I sit, eyes open wide Beyond our land, dark strangers ride

Morning wood AKA Dead trees In the cold, now, today Heaped atop frozen stone We cut and skinned trees A pile of felled forest bone Those who be twisted Not fit for house or hut Will not be peeled today We go to the chipper We who once stood Bound for the grill Be confetti of wood

The house was haunted for the length of a breath. The old man became as fog. He lingered in rooms he had traveled his whole life. Moments from his forever lit his face as he drifted. It was a fine thing to see, his world from then to now. Only dashes of dark in a vast warm light.

When? A question. A remembrance. When will it be enough? When will I be ok? Way back when. Remember when? When we were young. Once, when I knew more than when I knew so very little, and when I wondered when I would look back on when I knew it all. When exactly was that when?

A few more steps I'm almost out of it If I can go these last few steps The dark is trying to pull me back Trying to hold me Trying to convince me I'm leaving home Why did I fear the light When did this programming begin I ignore the lies I push away the shadows The sun is waiting

In the magic woods, deep and still, Bob the bear eyed a bee named Bill "If I rattle ur old tree, will u sting me u old bee?" The bee named Bill eyed the bear Bill clearly saw Bob's bee proof hair "I'll not sting you" quoted that old bee "I'll fly up your nose if u shake my tree!"

The long fall. When first I stepped off the edge, I dove into a stygian darkness. The immortal trickster opened a portal beneath me and suddenly I was falling through a molten world. Next, I burst into whiteness colder than liquid helium. Now, iron and glass rush up to greet me.

Can you see the fading image of every hand that gripped these tools? The lingering imprint of dirty, calloused and cracked meat hooks. Can you feel the impact, the tired bones ringing with pain, yet holding strong and swinging again? They be sun burnt and salty and back tomorrow.

It was the orange! It came from the east. The vile and noxious bloom of orange spread so slowly that we never understood the danger. "How bad can it really be?" We asked. "It's surely no threat... not really." We said. We waited too long! Why didn't we trust the doom sayers?