Tuesday, July 19, 2011


Our imaginations, gun-heavy, weigh
down on the sun

but we’re happy. Songs come to mind.
So many songs, and rhymes,
rhymes I like but don’t understand. My brother

laughs when I sing them. He seems

what is called aggressive (aunts sighing
boys will be boys) but I know him
in the quiet and he is kind,

kind like the moment you lower the barrel
full, and laugh.