to erin, who is still sleeping

this was for all the balloons fortunate enough to escape the tyranny of childrens' filthy hands
i! am the last of the great 20th century nobodies
i! am the second son of a second son
i! have recorded myself speechless, i've run out
i! have stared at ceilings long and hard
i! would paint the sky full of air solid blues
aerosol cartoons sprayed on ozone walls
accompanied by canopies copied from comic book
villains -- guns drawn -- aiming hastily in alleyways
the cliche is the limit
i! could be selfless?
i! am the second son of a setting sun
circling planets before science ever understood
the importance of laughing next to loved ones
before the seas were explored
alphabetically bees honey sweet stinging my tongue
and her lips pressing mine for answers
as for the washed-up, never was 1990's supervillians, i am the last
if in planes we appear to be simple ants
then atlantic city could conceivably be a cemetery
but only in the daylight when it isn't so scary
and i am still so scared of dying
and i am the second son of a son set on tying knots in a world coming undone
before our very eyes balloons sail by unscathed
as the day! turns to night


-2009