Invisible Days

The extracts,
In combination,
Distort rEaLiTiEs

Time slips coma
Weaving dream
Merger
Focus shift
to blurring
Searing sockets
Eyes red from strain

the cause is unknown

Portent patter
Filament's coal
Side-arm empty
Broken cypher
Keyless

Staring into what
distinction

Clouds pasture
uninhibited fringe of
tapestry
devouring the seconds
Revealing
nothing

You awake
In the middle of the day, (feels like night)

You awake
Still exhausted, (despite all the hours)

You awake
Not knowing
Where you are
What you're doing
When
How

Invisible
The days
Grow

Barely a form
as lines fade

Then you are
The one you were
for how long
Who knows.

But the pain reminds you
of all the hours lapsed
Just waiting for sleepers
to fall

Son of a Hit

Auspicious beginnings rear auspicious breeds

Mine began at inception

Genetically infected

By a predilection towards deception

And so a hit man I became

The first hit took place upon conception

Where I died during delivery

As cord bound noose about my throat

Yet I was revived

Blue eyes clouded by a touch of grey

I wasn’t supposed to survive,

This was never the intention of the seed that sparked my life

Therefore fostered I became

As days would follow

Knowledge I soaked

Detailing the plots and the plans

To which this intelligence would unveil

They were a simple lot

The ones who called me son

They were not my blood

But this did not stop them

From loving me as their own

The son they could never have

And so a fondness within me grew

An attachment bonded me to these two

Yet even they could see it early

In my eyes something was not correct

They wished the world for my life

However, I had another path in mind

Investigations taught me well

How I was the weapon used

I was the means to an end

For a man betraying vows

For a man who cared not for morality

My birthing was a masquerade

In fact I was the centerpiece behind a frame

That would live to become both cause and cover up

Yet truth was told, the truth I knew

The planning was ingenious

The paternal forethought was clever

The execution of his plan was careful and resolute.

He pricked holes in his lambskin coats, knowing mother had a tunnel that couldn’t cope.  He understood her greatest flaw was her passion for life that all things happen, for a reason.

Her devotion to religion, her belief system, taught her to behave predictable.  He knew this and more.   

When she found out first, that I was alive inside, she swelled up; I became the blessing she had always sought.  The doctors and professionals explained her life would very likely be lost, if she continued forward down this path.  She wouldn’t stray; it was not her way, even when they said it was an unlikely scenario that either of us would ever breathe after delivery took its toll.  Even then she clung to the faint hope, that a family we would be, as she returned from her recovery. 

As days grew close, the woman saw, a glimmering wonder within her husbands’ eye.  She knew a deception had been played, yet she couldn’t prove the matter.  There would be no basis for any claim.  Yet, the paranoia did not matter much, she was grateful for the wonder in her womb.  She was in love with the idea, a mother she would be.

The day then came.

Blood was everywhere.

Flooding stainless steel

She had no chance- in so much pain

We both knew it couldn’t last

Out of mercy I pushed forth

Ending her journey

Beginning mine

To the much chagrin of the paternoster my father would never see in me.

Feigned grief he shed

Tears trickled down

Method acting at its best

A smile only peaked upon his cheeks

The day he received the return on policy

The next afternoon

He pretended his grief had grown

That I was too much a chore,

Too delicate and fragile for his type to bear

The plot was impossible to prove

Yet the figures added perfect

To the master plot he spun

If it weren’t for me

Vengeful justice would have never swam

For her, she deserved better

So retribution was left to me

I had to become

The hit man I was birthed to be

Many hours

Plotting, learning, watching, waiting

Late nights documenting routine

Swallowing the vomit he induced in me

Then one day he stopped and stared

Approached the car, unaware of who I was

Intently, behind the wheel, I heard the tapping on the glass

Neck I turned as glass beside dipped down,

Between steel and air

He asked who I was and why I was there

 I wanted to scream, “Remember me”

I’ve got his eyes

Perhaps jawline too

“Tired, needed a break” was all my lips could stir

He walked away and stared back again

Shook his head and left my stay

The next day, an anniversary of birth,

And as a gift to myself, an accident I had

For all the years I’ve buried down,

Each vision of impulse

Every plotted point I’ve had

The collision was severe

Crashing metal driving steel

Eclipsed a budding metropolis

At the intersection of Main and 1st

Our cars met head on

Accidental but mentally rehearsed

The police examined me as I recovered.  They took careful notice, of the stitches on both head and hand.  They thought it was too coincidental to be a coincidence at all.  What were the odds, that on my birthday, I should collide, with the man who provided me life?  Too Oedipal to go unnoticed.  Too impossible to believe, but a case like this they’d never before seen.  A man like me they wished well.  For not only did a car betray my lane, the driver happed be the man who had birthed my seed.  Like a crocodile, tears thickly made their way.  Slow and methodically, I didn’t bite; it was all they had. 

And prove they could not

And with one act of will

I made things right, I took away his life,

Inheriting his everything

This was hit number two

But the cogs kept spinning, severe and fierce

I realized that every trace of him must be wiped clear

I searched for others and more there were

Many seeds of his, alive out there

Abandoned sons and daughters

Estranged lovers and displaced kin

Espoused in anonymity

Each year a gift I endow

Simply noting

They’re not alone

That people do care for you

And thus the third hit was done

I’ve since stopped count

Yet continue on I do

Until another figures this all out

The traces and the history

Of a family steeped in infamy

And if that child should concoct

A vengeful plot, in their father’s name

For disallowing them the possibility

 To ask the questions they keep. 

 To which I would tell that child, I know exactly how you feel, where you’ve been.

Completing the cycle, where the last hit, will again be me.

A Quality Life

Been in this spot for so long, he don’t remember any other way of life.  It was a lot of heartache, lots of good times though.  All in all, Judge says it was a quality life; wouldn’t have done nothing different neither.  I told him to start at the start, and so that’s where we started.  I say we, because the arthritis has stole his joints and mine are still able to use a pen, so it’s mainly me whose voice your hearing, but this is all about judge,  he’s the one with things to tell, I just been long for the ride, that’s all.

He said he would remember sometimes stealing hubcaps off from cars, two neighborhoods away, it was him and a few of the kids from the playground, they’d take them and bring their finds to his uncle’s garage and get a nickel apiece, doesn’t seem like much, but it was back then, those were much leaner times than what we got now.  His father was a decorated officer and it was often joked that he had three sons, Judge, his brother and the law, and that one got the time out of the old man, can’t say ‘bout love, cause I’m sure he loved them all ‘bout the same..  He never was around much growing up, and his ma was always sick, so his ma’s brother took care of them after school and so forth.    Family get-togethers were quite heated, kids were torn as to who they should listen to, believe.  You see the uncle was a thief, a really good one.  The garage was a front, a place where the thieves could go and grab a soda, read the paper in between gigs.  Yeah, holidays were interesting.  Growing up, his brother took a path emulating his uncle, and I don’t really know what happened, but Judge appeared destined for the same.  Then the news came in that Judge’s dad was shot dead on the spot, convenient store, corner of rose and downing, for a dollar fifty in his pocket, just got off a double, must have been tired, and never saw it coming.  Anyhow judge changed after that day, turned away from the crooked pathway, judge’s uncle was fine with that, his life, his choice, but he was always there when judge needed him.

Skip forward a bit, I’ll fill in later, Judge was five years from the academy, and went back to school, and then again became a doctor of criminology and justice, something like that.  Bunch of union boys pushed him to run for being a judge; he brushed it off at first, and then ran thinking there was no way he’d win.  Well remember when I said judges uncle would always be there for him, well he was.

This was a long time ago; hardly recognize that man no more, at least fifty years now.  All the greasy palms, lobbyists, not to mention the family line, and that all came into play over the years, which is worse, whose call is that to decide anyhow, all these things can catch up to a guy.  Well judge has turned his head so many times by now he’s bound to be looking straight back to him by this point.  And judge, he’s a good guy, a really good guy, believe me, I know, been with him every step of the way.  But I don’t know how it all got unraveled, if it even did, but conscience has eaten him up good these past couple, he’s sad he can’t remember which is what, you know.  He remembers fine, that’s not it at all, it’s what point of view he’s remembering, that’s his concern, been so many sides and stories and angles played over the decades, old judge now demands photographs as proof now, even over his own memories and recollections of things, figures photos more reliable anyway.  Judge gone past this morning, so out of respect, not so sure this going to get out there, not sure what judge would want me to do.  I can fill in the blanks, but some things just best unremembered if you can, if not someone else can accuse a dead man of something, people look at accusations like that a bit differently, with a bit of skepticism.  Yeah, guess that’s ‘bout right, if it’s going to happen, that’ll be how it will be.