Brother With A Bounty

Just what is tie that binds the boy
to clasp in hand,
a stronger bonding,
where fist is closed to fist in rapture,
to capture love,
instead of drawing blood in rivers.

I am often pulled to talk
where tone is tear
disguised as anger,

for we are lost in stormy shell
where inner flesh is tossed to rock
against the tide that binds in name,

a feeble raft
of string and branches.


I have spent a life apart
from many whom I should call brother,

and not because I find my skin
in words where few would want to come,

to find me painting
on their portrait,

still,


I wander where they are
when sky is darkened lights
to dream above my implications,

as every one who feels the heavens
owns a star to find in sleeping.


So many ache,
and I can feel it
when sun sinks further than expected
till swallowed by the chosen sea,

and wind chill wallows without degree
on streets of cans
with Yesterday's news,

to fold as body
giving comfort
between the skin and frigid weather

in places where we close our eyes.


These are my brothers,
binding want within confusion
to steal my heart, as well as theirs,

and find Tomorrow's destination
without a language to focus kindness

in human waste and contradiction

throughout the greatest wish of west
in affluence to ascertain,

as ocean sends the sand
to save us,
with tide to try and call the moon,

before we sell it
to claim its bounty.