Be No More


When my wife incinerates me

and I journey through the flue

befriending, no, becoming air,

free of touch and possession,

I will be no more.


Wafting with lost balloons,

soft in breeze against a cheek,

seen through, no, never seen,

present with a yawns release-

I will be no more.


Gale, zephyr, or tornado

ripping through fields of wheat,

demanding, no, decanting light,

penetrating prisms bouncing in mist-

I will be no more.


Caught between bullet and skin,

exhaust from rattling pipes,

abstaining, no, adhering water,

thick Mississippi, tree breath-

I will be no more.


When I ignite and distinguish,

producing no more thought,

Duke’s, no, Miles’s horn

will be sounding in celebration-

I will be no more.



My Brother’s Boxes


It shan’t be long until I burst

like an abandoned balloon,

traveling distances above our map,

before its forgotten tail twirls

around unforgiving golden spikes-

trapped in a cactus, unnerved

with each tuft of wind.


Heavier than a Cadillac

in the attic, boxes beg opening.

A History of Baseball on top,

the red book which when he was gone

I sneaked into his room,

studying the shapes of early mitts-

that recognizable red spine.


Now that he is air, and I am old,

and time is a fickle spindle-

red is a different meaning.


The balloon trapped in a cactus

stays alive as long as the wind

subsides.  Stirred, for we know

how air acts as a barrier

just as well as a force, and pushed

by the Sun’s breath-

that recognizable red breath.


He is air.  I am flesh.  His boxes

in the attic for years, relinquish

the balloon upon the spike.



Family Photo Shoot


Sagging fleshy old pug

in my arms as the family

shuffles between spots.

My task: patrolling

the ponderous pug.

Grump thanks me

for embracing the chore.

Historic mansion;

backdrop of reunion.

Rusted saws and flail,

horse tack hung

from rusted attic nail,

Pitchforks, jugs, shields-

my back propped

on lawn chair, wavy

German hair waving

in bluster.  Grump

thanks me as I carry

his sagging flesh dog

up the stairs.  My back

prevails.  A weekend-

family in the mansion-

a pug and a dachshund,

and a Grump joking

he’ll soon lay in coffin.


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