1:06:xx


Careful...

They Are Real.

Don’t Lie. And

It’s Kill to Win. 


The X is a variable

an unknown

seconds

matter

as

I

pour through my memory

looking for the moments lost

clues to tell. Tell me what the fuck

where the fuck I was when I don’t know

and fuck, the seconds do matter because I can’t

they can’t we can’t afford seconds in a game like this

because


children were hurt over and over

once

bones were broken

many. So fucking many bones

before

and

won’t 

allow it


1 hour

Six minutes

unknown seconds

lost


my feet weren’t wet when I slept

(I didn’t leave the house

thank god)

Mya isn’t avoiding me; she came to me when I woke

no unknown bruises

the miles haven’t changed on the truck

my hair looks the same

teeth were unbrushed the same

glasses unwashed the same

clothes were the same

no damage done

this time

I think

hope

pray


My friend found me 

for a moment

only a day

or two

before


showed me her eyes

her not-trying-to-hurt-me

eyes of hazel


I took a Xanax before

knew I was hot

adrenaline

pushing


Pain drives me still

averaging one night of

four 

for sleep

exhaustion 

comes first as it

always used to and

 

am courting 

my monsters.


When 

she tells 

me I have an 

imaginary friend;

do not think critically 

about that part of my life and 

cannot because I believe something she 

does not


everyone who believes that doesn’t

she says.


So 

I pour 

over the 

hebrew, greek

aramaic and latin I learned

to critically examine one document

the 

history

I learned of 

the cultures of

those times to better

understand what was being

said

and

how it

is not a literal

document, but rather

written in layers of history

and language of a culture that

is still present only in words that 

I believe.


She doesn’t understand

the proof of one 

does not 

disprove

the other.


She doesn’t have to.

I am a child. 

In her eyes. 

According

to her logic. 


It’s not worth the fight;

I have more to fight 

alone always

alone

struggle 

against the

morality of my

youth taught to me

by those who sent me

to be raped, who broke my

jaw; to those who taught me 

to win at any cost to keep my 

home

a bed

place

to sleep;

no safety

unless you 

make the other

“other” and not

breathe anymore

and that street drugs

are okay for children

and it’s okay to throw

someone out of a second

story window as long as you

don’t lie;


children are bled

and make others to bleed;


The Morals of My Youth.


Given to me by parents 

who had it given by 

their parents and

their parents’

parents 

and on 

and on

and on


Believe me,

you don’t want to 

see my naked morality 

where I don’t search for missing 

minutes and x seconds don’t matter 

and minutes don’t care with hours set loose 

and my animals sent hunting to radically explore

my parents’ inherited theory on the evolution of morality 

and raising children right as I stare them hard into the mirror 

to make sure they can see me seeing

them 

who endured:

more than four years I cannot remember where

I am repeatedly raped

broken jaw at 9

broken ribs

broken

back

broken me


My Monsters Are Real.


I tell my eyes 

hard blue ocean from sky:

Never again

or I will take us all down

on the alter of our father’s sin

© Michael Barry 2013