Things my son should know after I've died by Brian Trimboli
I was young once. I dug holes
near a canal and almost drowned.
I filled notebooks with words
as carefully as a hunter loads his shotgun.
I had a father also, and I came second to an addiction.
I spent a summer swallowing seeds
and nothing ever grew in my stomach.
Every woman I kissed,
I kissed as if I loved her.
My left and right hands were rivals.
After I hit puberty, I was kicked out of my parents’ house
at least twice a year. No matter when you receive this
there was music playing now.
Your grandfather isn’t
my father. I chose to do something with my life
that I knew I could fail at.
I spent my whole life walking
and hid such colorful wings. Art by Onchi Koshiro
Recommended listening: Out Of The Blue - Julian Casablancas
Links of the Day: Wes Anderson//Smiling Lovers Illustrations That Portray The Language of Love Watch: Four terminally ill patients laugh at death in their stand-up comedy show