from from

to the brother i will never be

to the cousin i never was

to the janitor that i might’ve been if my brother wasn’t so close with his cousins

there are stories i need to tell you

like

there is still a thing in nothing

or so my father clicked after a ninth playing inside him

healed by scars that spread rumors of death

into his ears which he scratches

a little late to protect after the bang

which pools urine on the floor my mother cleaned

with her body

with cornhusk legs of nylon

and parts of my body that are leaking now

for she was

licking the blood that might’ve been you

if there were another man

who didn’t cheat on

her first

me then

but you last

for i have seen you in the light that is greedy for darkness

and the morning that frowns over the horizon twice a day

and when my back hurts hurts hurts

for no other reason than the confusion that pain causes

still there on my father’s face

kept after years

all used up

even after his tenth