This used to be my playground.

Wide-eyed moth travels so close
to the amber burnt street lamp.
Across the field at the end of my eyeglass prescription.
On top these fall wind blown leaves
this field of bottle caps and broken bottles is my place of childhood.

Canopy tree tops lay shade
around my head like midnight clouds.
Frozen breath stays within the range
of my battle scarred babyface.

This is where I stayed
when the screams from the house
seemed to be directed at me.
But, were never about me.

"They'd never find me here" was a constant thought.
But forced back to home
with a finger twisted ear lobe.
And wind battered cheeks.

As I drapped my eyes with black fingered cotton.
I dreamed of places where the alcohol stopped flowing and screams came out so silent that only deaf dogs would be the only ones to hear them.
On the corner in the priarie where nature claimed turf.
-------------------------------------------------
Solid tears...

It burns deep close enough to feel the warmth even though your name calling I bury between my ribs.

Right fisted glory raised above pillow shaped hair as we danced on the kindergarten scribbled lines of sobriety.

We told our closest secrets even our popularity driven lies. Then why aren't we closer?

Brothers to the end on a expedition to find the truth. Murder by numbers 1 by 2 by 2.