Am I suppose to be sad

~for Gary Snyder*

Beyond the edges
of the dying cities
the human
reasserts itself.
Shacks and gardens,
hermits and wise men,
woodsmoke rising -
flickering flames
of a new dawn.
  - mce

as our rescuer, god could not go with us into hiding.  how many times must I accept my heart let alone stop my brother’s?  your father is ****** through a straw into a spaceship summoned by your inability to dream.  your mother, on paper, lives under a tooth.  I can hear my guts scrape against the baby whose melancholy is brought on by the loneliness of my health.  the world is mostly weather.  we associate in shifts our sister’s body with the inside of a furniture store where nothing screams

you.