on being older than your father.

A Poem by Everett Dulin

A collection about the man who left me and what it made me.

i like this one
A Poem by Everett Dulin

my father was a storied man,
a life i'll never hear.
they got him with the brain worm,
sent from aliens, from mexico, from near.

not a tumor, per sae.
maybe just a shitload of cocaine
and tylenol, for his acid rain.
he always knew how to run away.

a secret technique, formed years ago.
by a father's father, and one before.
a foot in front of the other,
his trick will never bore.

ill watch from his headstone bench.
sitting in front of my mirrored demise
ill write their stories, you hear that, not his, not mine.
ive been here before

ill make plenty of their mistakes again
one line in, and ill always, be just the first out the door.
but i see that i know, and i wont idolize.
like its not all, their same desire in mind.

the barrel named inheritance
A Poem by Everett Dulin

there's an heirloom revolver
passed from father to father to son
the barrel named inheritance
i thought i could pass it on

from vietnam nostalgia, and ideation runs
my grandfather had a colt
my lolo was already gone
he left my chekov's gun

my father stared down its lists
the names, the damages, how it fits
in the grip of palm sweat
how it sits perfectly on your head

his vietnam nostalgia
his son and what i represent
my father is gone
now i hold the grip

of chekov's pen
with the revolver at my hip
so when cut turns to run
ill read the barrel

my named inheritance

fathered in
A Poem by Everett Dulin

after a lifetime without
ill imagine my dad's hand
we'll finally walk together
ill finally understand

over coffee and cigarette butts
we could speak the weather
about foggy mornings, their
hazy atmospheres

both of us dazed
over maddening delusions
blissfully ignoring
whatever happened

have you ever
met your dad
and his first words were
my son is dead

for some reason
long afterwards
i still thought of him
as my father

and even worse
i didnt think he was wrong.

on being younger than your son
by Everett Dulin

my dearest son i know ive been gone
there you are so little along, too long grown
can you understand your moment?
sweet child, did you fear growing old?

when grey pollution clouds hair-roots and skies
gassed out fog mornings, gripped by saturated haze
those browns and greens along sidewalk patches
my child, did you focus on the greys?

so little along, too long grown
i threw away your moment
im sorry, i didnt care for growing old

a five year question, asked 5 times a year
to see yourself succeeding, the dread that entails
every five years i saw myself as a wall-piece decoration
or at least my entrails

but sweet child i won't hold your hand
when you see yourself at 25
do you see a dead man?

i caught the streetlights turning on and hfs
A Poem by Everett Dulin

harambe
didn't deserve to die.

they shot him once,
shot him twice.
it was my
epiphanic demise.

i had a son,
and i hated him.
the same vein of my pyrrhic wins
i hated his stony soulless eyes,
ones jade, my own,
mine very mine.

i'm the one, i threw my son
into the pit
free of that burden
in resent, i ran away
with my desire path
along that broken i95.

now i'm addicted to fentanyl,
and krokodil,
to melt familiar skin
beneath acid bones,
a golden idol.
to love again,
to have a spotless mind

with innocence weaponized
harambes blameless crushing
ill drop my boy
and ill head to agarthas rim

i had a son
and i hated him
i chose myself
and that EVA i couldn't get in.
his mother doesn't love me.
she never loved him.

i threw my son into that f*****g pen.
hoping harambe, would kill him.
the warden saw, with his scoped cane.
he shot down with a silvery rain.

and left my son alone and alive.

i had a son,
and i hated him.
the same vein of my pyrrhic wins
i hated his stony soulless eyes,
ones jade, my own,
mine very mine.

now i'm addicted to fentanyl,
and krokodil, and that EVA i couldn't get in.

i left him

young and alive, so close to 25

the only thing my father left me.
A Poem by Everett Dulin

i wanted it to be you
i wanted there to be meaning
everytime i looked at my calloused feet
reddened with dead trails, gravel engravings

i wanted it to be true
that you were too broken to lead me
i thought if i hurt and you hurt
that our papyrus pathings would be complete

dad, i wanted there to be meaning

i hated who i was, more so who you weren't
i despise the spite that made me so strong
i despise the lies i told myself, that you weren't coming home
even though you didn't.

i hate who i became, and the understanding as well
i need to blame you forever, so my pilgrimage has fuel
dad i wanted you to leave me, and never return
looking at our shared skin, you never did

and i dont know how long i can be alone.

goodnight dad, i forgive you
A Poem by Everett Dulin

goodnight dad
may the stars
guide your slumber
rest easy, knowing

survival's guaranteed
with my knowledge
of the sea
sailors hands

formed from knots
ive had to pull through
i hoisted my own sail
from port, i just missed you

maybe next time
we can be friends
in the next life
maybe i will actually

meet you

chekov's revolver

A Poem by Everett Dulin

there's an act, an elegy

of forgotten fathers and their son's written eulogies

by the third time, you can feel the hammers click

a prophecy, ive waited eternities for this

on being older than your father,

all of the dread that entails

those twenty five years waiting

waiting to meet in hell

there's a revolver, with engraved lists