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Sleep – you used to be one of the good guys,
used to give me lots of zizz and fizz.
But now – it seems – you’ve gone your own way.

Baby, don’t you care,
don’t you care for me no more?

Are you out there – somewhere – laying your head
on the salacious lap of a good-time girl – out for the count
on her sticky settee or snoring loudly in the thorny shrubs of suburbia.

Sleep – can I tempt you back
to me
with a soothing cup of Chamomile tea?

Sleep – come home – immediately. I need the rationale of your R.E.M.
to rescue me from baleful Buddhist chanting,
from the night after night monotony of white noise,
from the stomach-churning stench of French Lavender.

I need your help to recalibrate the present – fine-tune the future,
peel my eyes off the fractured walls – obfuscate the ceiling cracks.

We are creatures of the night, you and I, so let us lie down
together again
in safe surrender and snooze until the Blackbird sings.

Sleep – I miss you so. You were the A to Z of my psyche,
my midnight highway to the spirit world. I miss the sageness
of your graphic nightmares: the neglected ghosts,
the unremembered memories. But, most of all, I miss
the warning bark of the brown and white dog and the unexpected
visits from my father – so alive – so familiar – so welcome
in his Burnt Umber tweed – striding through love’s ectoplasm,
arms outstretched – announcing!

‘There she is,
there’s my best girl!’

I’ve lost the memory of you
In rainbow painted skies.
There is no turning back –
The love echoes are so far away
deafening my heart and soul.
A last kiss, a permanent heartache,
an everlasting missing piece in my psyche.
I fall asleep and dream of you forever…

The constitution was my shepherd. I should not have wanted
(if lawmakers had abided the law rather than fear being primaried).

The constitution now maketh me run from ICE arms:
it deports me over troubled waters.

Its aberration in the small hands of a bloated man
depletes my soul, for he leadeth us in the path of
divisiveness for his ego’s sake.

Yea, as I walk through the valley of oligarchy,
I fear evil, his retribution a rod against my back,
his staff of toadies seeking ways to disenfranchise.

He devours my freedoms at the behest of mine enemies:
he batters my head with truncheons, my blood spilling over.

Could goodness and mercy restore our rights?
Surely an enlightened electorate could evict
this false lord from our people’s house.

Once,
There was a poor little boy
Not poor in coins,
But in comfort.
Not poor in food,
But in love.

He had a mother
Who held a bottle
Tighter than her children,
Who traded bedtime stories
For silence
And babysitters.

She didn’t know
The sitter wore a smile
Like a wolf wears fur
Pretty, but hiding teeth.

The poor little boy
Was left in that house
Again
And again
And again
His body learning
What his mind couldn’t name.

In school,
When the word “sex” was said,
He tilted his head
Like a puppy chasing a sound.

“what’s that?”
He asked, honest,
Small.

The class laughed.
A boy yelled:
“when a penis goes in—”
And the teacher turned,
Just in time
To hear the poor little boy say,
‘oh, I’ve done that heaps of times at home.’

The room froze.
The teacher didn’t.
She pointed to the corner,
Not the pain.
Punished the words,
Not the wound.

He grew into a teenager
With shame in his bones.
Carrying hands
Taught by trauma,
Not by consent.

He touched someone wrong
because someone had touched him worse

The school system failed him, just like his mother failed him.

He grew up
But never out
Of the ache.

Years passed,
He wore cologne,
Wore muscles,
Wore confidence
Like armor
Over an abandoned child.

He became a man
Who never let women leave
Not because he loved them,
But because he feared empty rooms.

He cheated not for thrill,
But for survival.
If one left,
Another would still be there
To say
He mattered.

But he didn’t believe them.
Not really.
Because how do you trust
A kiss
When your first touch
Was betrayal?

He told women he loved them,
But didn’t know what love was.
Just that it sometimes came
With skin
And silence,
And left
Without warning.

He hurt women
The way he was taught love feels.
Then hated himself
For becoming the echo
Of someone else’s crime.

He’d lie awake sometimes
Beside a warm body,
Colder than he’d ever felt.
Wondering
If the boy inside him
Was still screaming
In the corner
Of that first classroom.

Wondering
Why nobody came.

He tried therapy.
Walked into the office
With trembling hands
And sat down
Like a guilty child.

He said,
“I don’t know who I am
When I’m not being touched.”

He said,
“I think the first woman
Who loved me
Was trying to erase me.”

He said,
“sometimes I don’t want to exist—
But I’m too stubborn to leave.”

The therapist said,
“you were hurt.”
He shook his head.
“no.
I was made that way.”

And still,
Some nights,
He dreams of the sister
Who said “I got you”
And didn’t.
He dreams of the girl
He hurt,
Who looked at him
Like he was the monster
Under her bed.
And he wonders
If the monster
Had a mother
Who drank herself numb.

The poor little boy
Never really left.

He just grew taller,
Learned to flirt,
Learned to fake charm
And hide the rot.

But when the lights go off
He’s still there,
Knees to chest,
Waiting in silence, for someone
To come back,
And mean it.

But in the silence, all the things we didn’t learn, remained.

Because all he ever wanted
Was for someone to stay
After they saw
Everything.

The basement smells like
rust and hush money.

Grandma says it’s the pipes,
but the pipes haven’t worked
since granddaddy disappeared.

There’s a bible on every stair.
Salt at the bottom.
A mason jar of teeth by the furnace.

The washing machine hums
like it knows a secret.

We don’t go down there.
Not since Mama came back up
with white hair and a limp.

Grandma keeps cooking
like nothing ever happened—
says men always find their way
into dark places.

We just don’t let them back out.

Voice Over: Val Cole

Editor & Visual Design by Adam Bilyea

Produced by Matthew Toffolo

POEM:

As you’re already aware…
…I’m on a one-way trip.

I’ve been on this journey
For over a year now.
In the end,
It’s just you and your convictions.

I believed Miller,
Every word he said.
He was finally happy,
Finally at peace.

He described contact with a highly-advanced civilization.
Said they knew how to make it all go away —
Every trouble, every sorrow.

Nobody believed him,
And I’ll never know why.

Human nature, I guess?
If it sounds too good to be true,
It probably is.

But I believed Miller.
And my faith was rewarded,
When he sent me,
And only me,
Instructions on how to reach them.

Miller lost his father to alcoholism,
His mother to suicide,
His wife and child to a horrible accident.

He was a deeply religious man.
After all he’d been through,
Who wouldn’t take a leap like this?

And so, I chose to follow in his footsteps.
Back on Earth, I was a corporate man.
The money was good, but everything has a price.

My soul couldn’t take it anymore.
They begged me not to go,
But there’s nothing left for me on Earth.

All that war and fighting,
Greed and famine,
Chaos and crime…
…I’d seen enough, had enough.

It’s not lost on me
That without money,
None of this would’ve been possible.
But all the money in the world
Couldn’t keep me there any longer.

Maybe I’ve been in denial,
Maybe I’m selfish,
But I left my fortune behind to charities.
Using the remainder for this journey.

It doesn’t matter what they do with the money.
It doesn’t make a difference now,
They can’t say my heart wasn’t in the right place.

Where I’m going,
At least I’ll still have everything.
And I’m not talking about material things either.

Can you imagine?

My excitement knows no bounds.
My parents are still alive.
My mother isn’t stressed out all the time,
My father isn’t holding onto his pain any longer,
My pet is still running around,
Living his best life.
Everyone’s happy,
Everyone’s at peace.

And most of all?
She’s still there too,
Just as I remember her,
But healed from all of it.
Pain, trauma, abuse,
Things she endured but never resolved,
Hurt that was there,
Long before my arrival.

It won’t be the same,
But I’m okay with that.
Because when I make contact with them,
Deep down I’ll know,
Just like Miller did.

They’ll free me from my pain,
My grief,
My suffering,
A trinity of torment that refuses to subside.

With their help,
I can build upon the memories
I refuse to let fade,
And I can revise those endless dreams,
Dreams that never came to pass.

Because I’ve finally accepted,
With all my heart…

…That the illusion will be enough.

that sad beige room began to tremble
low rumblings are not uncommon here
tonight though, they are stronger
powerful and menacing in a new way
her pleas and shouts becoming desperate
there’s a thud on the other side of the wall

cautiously peeking out the door I see
his dark figure looming across the hall
fury-filled eyes pierce into mine
breath laced with alcohol he leans in
muttering hysterically about hate and evil
declaring my mother to be a ‘manipulative bitch’

small and scared, swallowed by uncertainty
she lets herself sink under covers
nothing I could do to offer security
except for softly wrapping her in my arms
silently promising to always be around
in the corner, the tv glowed while we held each other

To Whom it May Concern,

Thank you for submitting your work. We regret to inform you that your poem, entitled XXXXXXX has not been chosen for our upcoming anthology.

While most rejections come stock-written, we wish to elaborate upon our decision and extend our most sincere apologies; while the tone of your work doesn’t quite fit with our production, it was unbelievably moving! We received several 2-weeks notices from employees as well as a record number of time off requests. The secretary who delivered your work from the printer has blinded herself with a letter opener.

Though I’m sure you’re well aware, your work is very potent! Be careful where you point it next time.

Though it is general practice to encourage further submissions we most humbly ask you to cease all communications with our publication office. Our editor-in-chief blew his brains out in the back and left no note; our interns cited your final line:

“So now what,” in their collective resignation. They have decided to change fields.

As for me, your dutiful correspondent, you will find the attached email, phone, and fax numbers all defunct upon receiving this message. Please refrain from contacting the office as you will see on the local news this evening that we have burned the place to the ground.

We are all shocked and elated that you are still alive “and kicking,” as they say! However, our PR department has chosen to rescind all of your work from the public domain in hopes of restoring the mental health of our team and patrons.

Farewell, poet. Please forget to write.

Sincerely Yours,

[REDACTED]

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