The Case of the Falling Butler

I'm home again,
back from somewhere hard and fast.
the doors are off the hinges,
the food has gone rancid
and I keep expecting the butler to mind things -
but he's drunk again.
always when I'm gone.
I can't keep trusting him with this place.
I can't keep leaving.
master of every outward folly,
a stranger in his study.

I saw you perched
in a second story window bewildered 
and eager to return.
tight off the repressed fruits
of too much unbridled trust.
so much air in your purpose 
as you glided down to meet me.
and at my feet you found forgiveness
not in prayer but surrendering
to something else entirely.
you keep bowing for forgiveness,
I keep vowing to end this,
it's a cycle, you know.
all this coming and going.
all this wanting and knowing.

there is fly paper decking the alley
between this house and my holiday.
larva piled in heaps between 
trash cans and sunrise
and it keeps me from coming back.
every rotting moment shoved 
into overstuffed aluminum.

It's all relative, really. 
E equals parts of me

divided by infinity
and infinitely reduced to the zeroing one of now.

the sure shot.

the sharp shooting phantom perched on the turret.

why'd I build those turrets? 

what am I keeping away?

I keep pulling the trigger
and taking cover.
launching counterfeit rockets
at my destiny.
pulling pins like stems from
apple grenades hurled through
freedom's rarefied countenance. 

we're at war with all this dying light.