silly sad thngs

sily things make me sad b/c
i can't get into the game of them
anymore. i remember when i was so caught
up in display, ihad to write all the nasty
personal shit going down in my life out
of me. now, i can barely write a thing.
no incidents, no tete a tetes. too much
happens but nothing does.

forinstance this:

the keyboard has a drum machine
we got the 4/4 interpreted,
we got the tempo how we want it
and the boy doesnt want tojam
with drums. it throws him off.

so there's words exchanged, wills
against each other. son says lover is older
brother material. which is fine with everyone.
as long we discount the incestous connotations of that.

still, lover is a musician , while son
is learning music, orchestral. he can groove
but come on he's adolescent when possiblities
either open or cripple.

i begin to regret the mistakes i made
with dotter. the things i didn't know
didn't remember about this time
the things i wished to ignore.

i read in dear abby about a woman
still trying to win her mother's approval.
it struck home, in the backhand way.
am i doing this to my daughter?

she told me that i could not be pleased
many times. i told her, i would be pleased
if you would do something. she said she does
but it's never enough. "perfect" waltzes thru my head.

there was the instruction taken as criticism
the relentless voice of the father, yelling.
the mother's abandonment in his vice the dotters
end of childhood. end of a string of lies.

i loved her with all my heart
then and now and forever. but i also
couldn't stand how she blamed me
for everything. as if i'd lived it all before
and knew what to do. i was just playing it by ear.
dancing with the sound of the flute
the pan pan markers in strichnine treacle.

i ignored what had wounded me. she decided i chose
love over her. i love her. but i was mistaken
in my actions. if i had known i would have let him go.
i would have been less to him, less to love.