HOW MY GRANDFATHER FELL
A body becomes spacious like an empty room
Suspended in the fumes of alcohol.
It wags as if a house is trying
So hard to hold its door from slapping
Against the wind, or as if a paper is trying to say
Too many holes are littered into its skin.
This is a body caught in the amber liquid
Of a sad wine, pale like carrions of old bodies.
This is a body holding out a breath like little owls
Gasping on an old carrion, it smells of a body
Intoxicated in an old whiskey.
I have always wanted to say my grandfather
Is a faint half-lit candle burning in a graveyard,
—His body is a graveyard in between solitude & divorce
—His body wobbles into a dim flecks of light
Like a hand reaching out for its old self through a mirror
And then everything stumbles into a loud silence, into debrises.