and here, here we were, how has it been? to begin again, out there, in the dusk of fall. sitting on the porch i see the chalk lines my daughter has left: tales of anger and boredom: she is her father’s daughter. such rage for all of four. who am i, who am i, i’ve lost her, i’ve lost him, adrift. i am adrift. i am the rift, i am the absence of all that you were.

it has been miles since I’ve written: miles since I’ve engaged with the process long enough to produce something substantial, perhaps even meaningful.
it feels as if it has been weeks since I’ve seen the sun even though I’ve stared straight into it from behind dust thick blinds. I am blind and wounded and beyond repair.
I tell her in the dark: when we come into money it’ll be easier. I whisper, it’ll be hard at first, but you’ll be better off.
Scrambling in the pale light she asks, what does that mean? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

He says to me in the dark,
(always in the dark when he is closest to me, ghost hand well placed on my desk, a mouth full of ashes beside my ear, he says,)
I don’t know what’s worse: that it was all in my imagination
or that you still linger in mine.

Yo man how cool is this? I was just trying this shit out and it was the fucking bomb.

you cannot undo it. you cannot wipe the blemishes away from the scars: you are always fucking up. you are always the fuck up. it’s like you can’t help yourself, always putting yourself right at your most weakest, always proving yourself to be weak, always proving how little worth you truly have. and it goes on like this, sticky sweat, stifling heat and a shallow breath that keeps you going: despite the sag, despite the fact you know exactly what you should do.

the idea is, to build the bankroll and unfortunately you’re going to have to do it slowly, dollar-table by dollar-table. you have no choice because you were reckless and impatient.
now sit with the clowns and bear with the show.

sometimes you want a lazy day, i day full of nothing. what did i do today. i was kind to my daughter and i was also cruel. i am always kind and cruel. to everyone. even the newborn. even my lover. she has suffered the most of all. why do they stay? why haven’t they abandoned me? or is it just a matter of time, is it all in due time.

but then there are days like this, quick and meaningful, sudden rush off to the beach, haphazard collection of towels and diapers, right there within minutes, waves pounding the shore, and my daughter and i in the thick of it, my wife feeding my son in the sun, and an incredible serenity between each fearsome lapse of the tide.

and how does madness begin, how does the fear strike you. middle of the night, flash-rush, sudden children straight into certain mortality, death death death and a pair of nines, i swear i screamed for the first time in months, and she was afraid to touch me and i didn’t want to be touched, just tossed and turned the rest of the night, every hour, on the hour, cracked until i no longer dreamed.

i don’t know what is but since july 4th, after playing heads-up with pops, my poker has been terrible, bad timing, bad read. it’s like i’m just throwing punches against bricks and i can’t stop.