Scraped

[brynmawr1]

Built by the hands of a grandfather
who later disappeared
and later found preaching on a street corner       to be  (has a little sonics with 'Albuquerque')
in Albuquerque,
and an uncle, of whom my last memory        these two lines read a little awkwardly
was when he grasped my arm
in the daze of Alzheimers
thinking I was his son,

where I stood on the porch in a storm
and shouted “kingdom” at the lightning,              shouting
lost my virginity on a terrifying summer afternoon,
took LSD and waited all night for the milkman,
sat on the steps after seeing Ginsberg read,
writing my own Howl by candlelight.

My father and my son died in that house.
Gone now.  Demolished.  Its earth scraped clean.
Nothing left but the sky.                What kind of sky?  use modifier to provide more emotional context.  same with 'earth' in the previous line

And remembering, I look to that sky, 
waiting patiently for my own dissolution.       demolition?

Hi,
Very nice poem.  A lot packed in.  I made some basic language suggestions above.  I feel like this is the sort of poem that you should work on for a bit, let it sit and come back to it and find that next layer.
take care,
steve