IN MY ARMLESS BROTHER'S INK 

he’s an octopus lunging, lungless, through the slow 
wreck. Light stutters down from above. He is 
beyond his grasp. In his dream I get the bends 
in my blood like so many tiny stars. I am naked 
upward from the deep, in pain, a burst, an Icarus 
Now he’s Captain Hook on deck. His shiny 
curve, are born, out to their lethal points;
they dig in, they tear my broad back open and 
come undone. I am the happy-to-be-unstuffed 
room, his fevered body rich with heat. I lie down beside 
his coma, his corona. In this dream he’s burning 
wood too-hot stove, belly full of spilt split logs and 
full and light him up. He tears each log apart 
and burns. He gives up smoke pillows to 
the gas leaks out. It fills the family room 
and my lungs like soot or love. In every dream 
years 

DREAM

water. Exploring the black
king here. Nothing is
the oxygen bright
soaring
in reverse.
shafts unfurl and
when he hugs me
let my body
bear. He’s in the other
him, enter
up, a black
rot. I stuff him
consumes and burns
the night. The pipe is kinked,
the stripes of couches, and
he has I die. It will take him
to tell me this.