My wife said write a poem about what being a dad is like so I said “Love to hon, I’m down!… Now here I am ready to write. It’s like the stars and songs and…

I figured the day for any day; the outside looked as plain. So, I just went about my way as if things hadn’t changed. But I heard someone passing say,

When questions drip in endless thr… where minds are left alone without accessing hidden songs sung from the Master’s throne, (whatever that might actually be,

When the ground gives way to empty… and Earth has finally been erased I like to think we’ll be all right because we planned an early flight… I hope we’ll all be ready to lose

Don’t do me any favors. I don’t want to be born. I love it here wherever. It’s cozy, safe and warm! I cannot bleed, or hurt or cry

Death is the most awkward pause of all the pauses there be - as deep as love for Santa Claus and wider than energy. Life is the longest thing we do

I’d hoped to interject a sec to mention a thing or ten about the way I varnish a deck or wrangle a red-breasted wren... but something’s securely suspect.

The very, very center of a storm is called the 'eye’. Now I can’t help but wonder as a supercell passes by... why.

So, I’m the speaker of this poem and pardon my hasty speech but I’m just one text-space ahead of Xylok. (He’s looking for me,) and I would rather speak MY head

Breathing is sort of like a chore the more I ruminate. Eating is hardly anything more the more I contemplate. Being inside this body’s a bore

Close your eyes, see chicken thigh… in marching cadence go to war with all the curly fries that KFC can throw, beneath a stretch of clouding skie…

I saw the un-socialized one wild as the furious sun where caverns met forgotten air that stirred above us everywhere intent on getting things done.

I went inside my furthest head where 'who I am’ is found to root through all veteran though… that sluiced my cognitive ground. I searched for something simple -