Wednesday, August 13, 2008

jake (for Jake Corbin)

I am blinded by the spell of words.  The make me forget my brothers. 


Jake will die.

Fading in Rhode Island

Seeing men long dead

telling Michael on the telephone.


I am in love with the thought of words.  They let me know my brothers. 


Jake will die

an anagram in his veins

one in his eyes

another in his brain.


I am comforted by words.  They create things from monstrous truth.  Words make handbags from dragons.


Jake will die,

and when he does his obituaries

will carry different names.

One his mother's son.

Another his own.

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