on the day they were born
I murdered my brothers
in reverse order
to teach them
about sticks

more specifically
about my love
for what can break
easily
on the knee

     for what gets smaller
the more
it is shared

- 

premonition?  the delayed seizure of our mother’s countenance.

she could recall the brokenness of a toy car but not the location of the shop it drove itself to.

she needed two people.  one to smooth the map before her.  and one to laugh when she’d blow

playfully    
from her palm
the ants     the car’s tires     had become.

- 

to remain
brothers

     brothers
keep silent
within
earshot.  

distance?

     the hole
god leaves
by not
existing.

     confession?

the seashell comfort of a woman’s hips.  

- 

in baseball
one could ******
the pastor’s
nose

wipe the ball
on a white shirt

and transfer
worry
to the tick
heavy
dog

lazing
in the rabbit blackness
of its ongoing
joy

- 

     as an inner child searching for its twin

     the loneliness
of our sister
is twofold.