Winter, night. Snowfall. Lake house. The family is gathered for a beloved relative’s “celebration of life” (we’ll say he/she didn’t believe in funerals).

Father, mother, two offspring, distanced by 8 years (27 and 19). Mother’s brother and his two children, staying at a separate, unvisited location. And a dead grandparent.

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Winter was not the most opportune time for Grandpa to die, but he loved the lake, so because he passed in winter we are here and we are pretending to love the lake as he did. It is difficult to find joy or relief in a lake house. The whole idea is vacation. People go to the lake to swim in ***** water and drink and not think about things for a while. Winter is suffocating; it traps you indoors and surrounds you with walls and chills

Egos are firecrackers with short wicks. Do not light them in your hand. They explode and sting needles. Humans tend to trap themselves in the mind and that reality remains unbroken from formation until death. It really is a shame we make it all up. I wish heaven seemed a desirable prize.

In which life did your
body float the Ganges on
soft cuts of gum tree?

His words kept pouring
in the rain like the rain and
it stung like new skin.

This wall has skin
     a signal
stretch and collapse
w/ each breath the bent
mind keeps pulling—

See how far deep we can cut
you should have told me
anything but that they say
his pen tipped skin—ax-head straight through

when we left he was asleep and later
I got a phone call and the
voicemail, it said—

you need to get back
but first, you need to
tell me what happened

tell me
tell me
please
tell me

later, as we sat,
he said he didn't mean a word,
said, Maybe you should just
forget about it.

These Men are all in
boxes, taped air-holes and all
still, in time: breathing.

How many more seconds until this cigarette is all but broken ash?

How many more questions must I ask until the answers start to **** their way in?

How many people went to my funeral?

How many people didn't want to go and went anyway? Someone give these people a medal.

How many people have I killed on accident?

Was it quick? Torturous? Which is more horrible?

Did it happen too fast to enjoy (or recognize) the end, or slow to the point life was no longer a desirable option? If it ends in this…

Have you ever planned a ****** in your headspace? Where did it happen? What did you use? What were they wearing? How quick? Why? No, not why. No. I don't care why. All good people have reasons.

All bad people have options.

might fish dream of land

to wonder How many sharks
fall concious to the water

they must remind themselves
mustn't they

here is the water & life &
here we are surrounded

we escape via accidental hook or
suction of the propeller but never

on purpose: "fish out of water"
unnatural half-things, semblance

seeing sunlight through a window
and marveling the splitting rays

they jump and catch and dive
so soft

against the buffetting of waves