if they were the stories of my adoptive father I have no way of telling.
he told them and forgot.
two brothers I remember in one had built, separately, time machines.
their sister, though, had been done for a week.
she lost them to anger.
my real father noted the repeated references to god and rolled his good eye.
god, he said, is the mark of a first work.
I had spent years changing them, hoping my brothers
would visit.
Jul 6, 2012
Jul 6, 2012 at 11:56 AM UTC
if they were the stories of my adoptive father I have no way of telling.
he told them and forgot.
two brothers I remember in one had built, separately, time machines.
their sister, though, had been done for a week.
she lost them to anger.
my real father noted the repeated references to god and rolled his good eye.
god, he said, is the mark of a first work.
I had spent years changing them, hoping my brothers
would visit.
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