Tuesday, October 25


we may not look exactly alike;
we may not sound exactly alike;
we may not agree on most things-
we share the same werewolfen blood-curse,
and that's more than enough.
on the real,
there's a red-tinted tainted tincture that pours into our platelets
straight from our sour-to-the-marrow bad-to-the bones.
from the first to the last of it,
there's a curse on our kith and kin,
and we sure as sh!t share it, in spades.
they say angry expertism is in the DNA, duders,
because my pops likes to get effed up in the exact same ways.
in fact,
my father and i are more alike in more ways than is recommended
for the continued well being of worthy warrior poetics;
in all the worst ways-
the ones that cause the most sequentially savage
and calamitously consequential repercussions,
we resonate at the same frequency...
check the rock-and-boulder-type teleport:

if ever it was an applicable sentiment,
it's that right there.
i mean,
look at those two barbarian battle-beasts,
time-and-weather-and-careworn across the surface,
and cast-iron, lava-lined, and lugubrious within,
side by side,
letting whatever slim similarities we share shine through
like the fat chance in heck that we'd be mistaken for father and son....
....until we start to spit that hot fire.
there's no mistaking the meter, pitch, and timbre of our tune...
we don't have the same voice, but we definitely sing the same song.
i told you.
it's in the blood.
and it's thicker than water,
but it still finds it's own level, or so they say.
and my old man and i have achieved common ground.
a low-tide watermark of kinship after all these years.
i s'pose on a long enough timeline
we all have more in common than we'd readily admit at first.
i'm made out of one heck of a weird recipe.
don't believe me?
well, check it-
here's my ma, too:

how psyched do we look?
i know, right?
my ma has become a wild weird old italian lady to the fullest.
i really like that.
i mean,
i grew up surrounded by old italian ladies,
and look at how good i turned out!
this past weekend,
i found myself spanning time,
letting our mutually intricate spirit and memory dictate the genetic paeans
of worthy warrior poetry for posterity.
it was good to have everybody together,
if only to see the shockwaves of family resemblance roll outwards in
loud, fresh tsunami-style slaps of family togetherness.
that's real.
we're one heck of group, me and mine.
in fact,
i've even passed on whatever werewolf lunacy i've inherited
right on down, live and direct, to the next generation, as well;

we are all sipping from the same poisoned well-
three tiers of wolf-eyed weirdies,
all sharing space and time as best as we can.
there's no continuity errors in this narrative.
start to finish, it's all really happening.
loud, fresh, hardness, for everybody,
all the time, in your face;
never quiet, never soft.....

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