"Dear Lando"

You are the only thing I was ever sure of.

My only conviction, beside diction
more than hope or plans or promises
but something more recondite

I learn to think
in new ways
I learn new languages
I age and change clothes and fuck and reach for death out of habit
but you remain a certainty
you remain

You are every poem I cannot write,
You are proof that I am God.

I apologize for the ego that prompted you
It is the diseased carrier of sparsity;
it is the reason no one will love you like I

I am sorry for the hate you will return to me,
for teaching you to despise me
I am sorry for the protection that will appear oppressive
I am sorry my biography is covered in holes - your history is built on faith

I am sorry that as my son you can never be my friend
I’m sorry for living memories
while yours are yet to be made

My love for you predates your existence
It penetrates your currency
and denies you the excuse of a house with no windows

My picture frames look rustic to you
from absorption of futile wishes

so much so
that you don’t even see the pictures they hold
you see only the frame
the mystic frame, collecting dust
telling stories in an alien tongue
housing whatever crude collection of facts I have chosen
to represent a past
just as these words
are only symbols – a religious puddle
of grunts and moans
that we use as radar
to navigate the fervor

Remember that fervor
when you see the scratches on my frames
classical and wounded
gilded in price, scarred in sentiment
and though they may look ancient
they were born of rushed moves and escapes
sundry plans for new beginnings
desperate escapes from hidden tormenters
a search that eventually led me to you

all roads led me to you
but these frames are the divider on a highway that
escorted me unequivocally and inevitably to you

though you may drop them on the floor
and the pictures they contain may grow obsolete
or even disintegrate in the glow of countless morning suns

Listen to music
Take comfort in silliness
and if you grow unhappy
shrink with humility
until you fit through the door to anywhere

Happiness is not a pill you take
Happiness is not a woman
Happiness is not green, and cannot be spent or smoked

What it is
is best defined
by what it is not
and someday
your tears will explain the rest

The pinnacle of each age is the flight of its minds
which mesmerize the layman
and anger the fool
Should you remain grounded

Do not put too much weight on the branches of your family tree
they break – we stumble like everyone else
your greatest brothers and sisters and the ones with whom you share the Earth,
a gift and a curse, of course
the gift is when they come to you – do not turn them away

As a child, you will sing and dance
As an adult, you probably won’t
There is a reason for this and it is inhibition – even cockroaches get stage-fright –
Alcohol will kill it,
but it is far better for your liver to never stop singing and dancing in the first place
Plus, you will never get a hangover from being yourself all night

Wear condoms
Wear seatbelts
Wear your soul on your sleeve – This will reveal those out to hurt you. Fuck ‘em.
Don’t tell a woman you love her unless you mean it
Look up words in the dictionary before you use them as your own

You are an improvement upon me,
You should own no burden other than the bravery of bearing your flaws
Lies are occasionally pretty
but beauty will forever be truth
Bear your flaws
in celebration of all you cannot change
and tenacious ownership of everything else

The man who wrote this is dead
I am dead now, as you read this
The stench of my expiration obscured by a new face
bands tattooed to the walls
hiding the paint that poisoned me

I am dead now

resting on piles of lonesome nights and chemical dependencies
I am deceased and reincarnated as your father
New humans, the both of us
Navigate this cave with your fears on my shoulders, you should be weightless


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