Does it ever go out or just get dark?

He sees sin in everything.

His hair hangs in strings.

His mouth hangs
between thoughts.

He wanders a lonely lane
of sidewalk

in the front yard,
forgetting

his questions; they subside,
reform, and become

avenues of regret.

He thinks Hell is assured
because he smokes.

He tells women
not to kiss him.

He destroys CDs.

He mentions his daughter,
and alludes to something sinister,
and her never coming home.

A Christian man and all his crosses
as his mind unwinds

at 64, and he
can't help himself.

Chain smoking, refusing
to brush his teeth and
negotiating bath days-

he smells worse
every time I see him,

and he knows,
and he asks if I notice,

and the trick is misdirection
or silence because

both still the waters,
until the next moment


is the only one he knows.