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.
No comments:
Post a Comment