Muth Labben

Today is for counting my wasted yesterdays

Each one neatly lined up, row on dusty row

Every year the same...

Today is for remembering your unborn tomorrows

And the time I sit, because walking is too slow

There is no blame...

Today is for pretending to make sense of the past

From a life ended, with nothing to show

When I speak your name...

Today is for thinking that memories last

But all they do is fade, until they go...

Like every unfinished song to be sung...

About the death of a son.

Copyright © 2012 Bill Friday

I Am Fucked No More

A little FRIDAY REWIND.



A reissue of my final column for a soon-to-be deceased internet venue.  Please follow the link to the beautiful, new Expats Post, the new home of Friday On Friday, and a whole lineup of talented writers.

For now, here is "I Am Fucked No More".  



Epiphany in my time of greatest need

that the shit on which I feed no longer satisfies my empty beggars gut

as it once did

I am whole within myself

and no sorry-ass opinion of my well-chronicled condition

matters now or in the future

as it once did

like before

I’m telling all

from now on

broken gone

I am fucked no more.

Out of a Crowd

I wouldn’t choose you today if I had to.

Out of a crowd, or all alone.

this makes me want to die

Maybe only to save you from some something.                                                                

Not for the old, not for the new if I had to.

this teaches me to lie  

It’s sad and it’s true.

Good for a chronicle or two.

but only to get by  

Because there’s not much else to do.

no more asking why

With you.

Copyright © 2012 Bill Friday
content originally appeared on the website Expats Post

Amicus

I have seen the way I see you, forever.

In the now and then, the same

Never worse, only better,

In honesty, not shame…

I have seen the way I see you, forever.

Not your lover, not your brother, in name.

Without end, or beginning,

Only right now today…

As I see you.

SOPA (and PIPA)