The Illegitimate Sons, 2004




The Illegitimate Suns,

who shined,

with no one there to see.

Though now at last,

it has come to pass,

all we need is we.


Dad, it’s me, the bastard child—

the one you threw away.

Your illegitimate suffering son,

whose life, at times, has come undone.

Enough about me, how about you?

What dreadful things are you up to?

So dad, instead, how was your day?

No calls, because, you’re going through,

more lies devised, for moms like mine,

whose child from you, they always hide, but why?

All your life has been a lie.


The flower was enough, I guess;

forget the seed; forget the rest.

Isn’t that what you do best?

Forget it all, and easy, rest.

while those you spurned,

will toss and turn,

unable to sleep, and scream,

again they wake from fitful dreams.

Thinking when, and thinking where,

went the man who wasn’t there.


Well, how am I? I guess—it’s tough.

Pills and poems are not enough,
for me to beat, relax, repeat,

insomnia, anxiety,

whose effects have taken hold,

and keeps me confined in a hole.

Writing, drawing, this, and that.

Stress, duress, panic attacks.

The world comes through in narrow cracks.

As though I have lost control,

I write controlled by vertigo.

Though not that you would even know.

Not that you would know,

or care—

you faceless man who isn’t there.

The Illegitimate Suns,

who shined,

with no one there to see.

Though now at last,

it has come to pass,

all we need is we.




Look at what you’ve done to me:

nineteen years old with anxiety.

Insomnia too, what did I do?

For you to abandon me?

When I look back I don’t see your care,

but my brother was always there.

You never came to visit,

or came by.

I lay in bed and wonder why—

it bothers me, though I don’t cry.

Next time I see him—

it’s murder with an alibi.
And on that day I’ll finally rest,

without this burden in my chest.

I became talented without you,

with meth on your brain with nothing to do.

You have five or six other children too,
and none of them want to even know you.

Don’t try to take credit for me being your son,

because what I am is nothing you’ve done.

You could’ve came and could’ve cared.

You’re just a man who isn’t there;

and now I’ve learned, and now I see,

the misery that you gave me.

So next time be a man and care,

instead of a man who wasn’t there.


And all we need is we.

That’s how it’s supposed to be

All three of you, and you know who—

who it is I’m talking to:

two Aquarius’s, and a Gemini too.

I would not trade a one for you.

Hey there “dad,”

Why do you look like that?

A miserable meth head with a cowboy hat!
That’s okay though;

I don’t need you.

I hope I don’t turn out to be like you—
a meth head nobody without a clue.

The man who wasn’t there is you.

And now I’m done;
I’m not your son,

and I don’t even care.

Happy just because,
you were never there
The Illegitimate Suns,

who shined,

a few finally came to see.

Though now at last,

it has come to pass,

all we need is we.

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