Friday, April 8, 2011

Poetry Month

Dead Brother Super Hero
by Michael Dickman

You don't have to
be afraid
His super-outfit is made from handfuls of shit and garbage blood and pinned together
   by stars
Flying around
the room
like a mosq-

Drinking all the blood
or whatever we

to save us

need to be saved


I whispered     To the rescue
and sat
on the dead edge
of my bed
all night

all morning

My feet did not touch the floor

My heart raced
I counted my breath like small white sheep and pinned my eyes open and stared at the door
Any second now
any second



He saved my brain
from its burning

He stopped and started the bullet it my heart
with his teeth

Just like that
He looked down from outer space through all the clouds, the birds dropping like weights
He looked out
from the center of the earth
through the fire
he was


He stood in the doorway
and closed his eyes

His cape sweeping the floor

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