It’s cold in my flashbacks
It’s midnight all the time

Remember when I let
The monster stroll right
Through the front door
Of my childhood home
How wide he smiled

The heat went out
Midnight froze in time

I refuse to live forever
In the past I can’t move
Forward looking back

Slowly falling fast asleep
In the corner of my eye
I will build a bed of straw
Light a candle tip it over

May my memory be eternal
May forgiveness rest in peace

Well, since you didn’t ask,
Depression feels like this:

wefhfwefufhewfnweilfuhwehfieulfkhedjhyruimvmvbllsshdgfyukerfjer

Wait, you’re leaving?

Too bad.
There’s always
The internet.

Everyone’s kind
And porn is free
On the internet.

My life is a meadow
And I am its breeze

My mind is a river
And I am its flow

My brain is a wave
And I am its ocean

My heart is a pulse
And I am its beat

My voice is a song
And I am its chorus

My hand is a surface
And I am its touch

My eye is a mirror
And I am its gaze

My life is a meadow
Time passes through

Right now is Batman chasing robins?
Is Joaquin Phoenix doing stand-up comedy?
Where’s Ralph Waldo Emerson?
Is Walt Whitman shaving his beard?

How many Willows are weeping?
How many Eves are falling?
How many Adams are splitting their pants?
How many Jacks are changing flat tires right now?

Of those Jacks, how many know a jazzman?
Of those Jacks—who are changing flat tires
Right now and know a jazzman—
How many only date girls named Jill?

Is Forrest Gump too busy to save Private Ryan?
Is Tom Hanks telling Matt Damon it’s not his fault?
Good Will Hunting is my favorite movie.
Ben Affleck was in it before he played Batman.

If time is money
If talk is cheap
If gas is not
If cars brake
If websites crash
If cookies crumble
If hunger sucks
If mouths breathe
If jaws clench
If minds open
If thoughts race
If words flow
If ink dries
If pages turn
If books are red
If poetry’s dead
If songs rhyme
If lines repeat
If lines repeat
If knock knock
If who’s there
If dads joke
If jokes bomb
If clocks tick
If time is money
If greed is good
If money is sacred
Why do I still own a landline?

Charles B Snoad was born under a full moon in 1980, ten decades before his time. His father wanted a girl.

Charles Beatrice Snoad is her name. The girl his father wanted.

Charles Bader Snoad is a hand model.

Charles Barkley Snoad travels a lot.

On his blog, charlesbsnoad.com, Charles Baron Snoad lists fun facts about his altered egos.

A nice guy, Charles Bronson Snoad will kick your ass.

Sadly, Charlie Brown Snoad is allergic to peanuts.

Charles Be Snoad wrote, all by himself, the screenplay to Good Will Hunting under the pen name Matt Damon.

Instead of being a bum, Charles Brando Snoad could’ve been a contender.

Charles Bentley Snoad drives a 2007 Honda Civic once owned by his mother, who only drove it to and from church at a low speed.

Charles Byron Snoad is loved. Loved, loved, loved. He loves and is loved. We all deserve to love and be loved.

When I become a garbage man
I’ll dump out each garbage can
On the ground and toss each
Empty garbage can into the mouth
Of my garbage truck. And drive away.
I’ll be driving the truck, a blue one,
And I’ll hang off the back of the truck
At the same time.
My clothes will stink.
I will pull up to the red house
Over there on fire with the deep basement.
The kid who lived there
Thirty years ago ruined my life.
He could own the hole-fucking world today
For all I care, but not this poem.
Never my rage.

Ultimately, yes, I became my father,
A man learning to forgive his father.
Face it: my father won’t return tonight
Or any night called tonight.
Last I saw him, on the day
He was about to die, I survived
Long enough to hear him say,
“The door to eternity is open now.
I must be going for a walk, a brisk walk,
Among the ruins of a city built by sons
Who worked hard but nevertheless failed
To forgive their fathers.”
It takes courage to admit
My father won’t be joining me for dinner
Tonight or any night called tonight,
Even if a door out of nowhere
Opened and forgiveness herself
Walked through and said my father
Is well. Dead, still. And well.

eye of the forgiven
recognize me?

art solves nothing
and nothing is free
quite like an artist
becoming all
he cannot see

eye of the forgiven
recognize me

Chuck is down.
Up, Chuck!
Upchuck
Down Chuck!

Who is this
Down Chuck?

I heard he’s taking
The rest of the day off.

Where is he taking it?
How far?
Is he gone?