For us

A poem for the more hardened around us

To do. To move.
Dis-sociate from the ground,
Under one’s feet.

Can be an art form.
Do–this and that.
Go there. Looky here.

Walk. Run. Fly.
Don’t think. Don’t think…
Loss absconds with the heart.

There are puffy cloud animals
In the sky.
A Disney movie on television.

Ooh. Something new on
Looky here.

To lay or lie,
Leaven like bread,
Brew like beer,

To tally an account of.
Or get that first glimpse

Is it like getting fucked the first time?

Grief and loss?
Partners on the ball field.
Bitter compadres, they are.

Do you laugh or cry?
Tell jokes or vent?
Medicate it away?
Hope for salvation?

Pray pray pray.
The sisters say.
Let it all go.

Go go go.
Be. Do. Run. Fly.
Laugh. Joke. Don’t you cry.

Weld yourself together.
Through that tough steel
Of soul.

A hardened pard’ner now.
Grateful. Undead.
An artform.


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