we fell in love 11 mos ago.
started in the evening the day
i learnt about
the suicide of the local chef
of the local joint been local
to my gen
gen X gen
since the 90’s and bayside cocaine
(last time i was arrested
started out pool tables there then
rooster walks in then the stall back
the hall, july and all the clear bayside
salt, clear bayside mid night crystal
green
air
next thing you know it’s
a day or two after i haven’t slept
an am heading to slev in the morning
traffic to get some nyquil the battering
of heady hangover crunch squeeze in
my front brain so i can barely see an feelin
so mean~that was twenty years ago,
then
how i woke, today
2 decades back i mean
almost a week after the morning
my brother gets me out of jail–
i never knew
back then the spiral
rails i’d fall off once on
rails just knew to ride
always
to the end so, now i’m
arrested again an drunk
all week an
i wake up hungover again
& jeremiah calls
& fannon’s dead heart attack
we liked our cocaine
& that was the cymbal crash
i was sure’d been pounding
my head since that
morning days before
on the way to slev~
he was my boy
my boy’s? dead?
like i said this’s way back–)
20 yrs ago, today–not
11 mos ago when jwk’s
husband, local chef
found dead
(SO thick that day, too heavy i
couldn’t take the grit drink a
single spit of air a second more
so) i hit you back on social media
for the distraction. addiction
different then
changing focus
and ours wasn’t. wasn’t july
time of murder
death, froze, nuthin
else to be focused on, us
ours
is
august. the long
slow cruise. yes
dog days but also
wish based
counting stars.
11 mos ago
right now
on the outside everything
i’ve ever wanted, ever thought
to want, is coming true
outside under the pink
heavens i
wish a wishing stone
under the lammas moon
for you. we who
have been
through
brought
through so much 20 yrs
since i been on a drink or
drug you it’s been 6 now since
you went to prison and had
to kick there, you w
3 kids & baby mama
& drama i’ve always declared
too beneath me, too far
from my own
home:
you are
my home
i am glad
so glad that
to come back to
this, all the way
back, 20 years later
saying bye to fannon
before i know it’s time
again to,
we go to 6th street.
it’s a sunday,
natural
crystalline.
happen under
kites there bc
that’s where the best
burritos are, not bc
of trauma body not bc
of trauma field not bc
of drugs. our body, this,
our home
takes us back to the wound
the original scar
all the piles of treasures
there, too.
we float on our backs.
look at fishes in the turquoise
green count ceaseless diamonds
recount minutes of
months so alone
tortured by traps of time that could
not be undone, written as
it’s been on, of
our own bones.
you are precious to me.
in me. you see you
and i, me
us. we are. precious.
we were kids.
innocence spent.
free now to reclaim
our lost heritage
a monument
sixth street, beach city
usa
the diamond mines
within this
balm.
you, you were my boy
are my man. i am alive
now, with then, now
without them and
this. now.
precious. just us,
everything
between us~our
stars~what has
been, is
will come again
an
free to free now,
first time. what an
homage, this~
preciousness
~
for brian fannon
7/8/77-7/27/00
for TB
KdadaB 