Elegy for a Golden Boy in Endless Night

As he once cherished words that functioned as the climate permitted, there goes he this instant, a walking stiff in the black light, slashing through yesteryears news headlines. Bring him home, officer, and save him helpless in his lifeless state. AWOL he went in a blitz. End of substance. End of rhyme. Will anyone give him a homestead, filled with purple hyacinths and sundry birds outside? I hear them not, mute in the darkness spewing dirt upon him on yonder fruited hills, where ventured he one December, post-midnight, flinging snowballs far as he could. He there took for granted his youth. Who of his friends will ever forgive him whilst a sonogram speaks his story, releases his fractured steam, his boiled intestines that cannot be eaten? (Be eaten his darn truth.) Toxicologist in clinical approach has no truck with forgiveness, as I forgave him his dipsomania but not his leave-taking, for his body overnight transformed into a stranger that was his true self, someone whom in a multitude I may never meet again.

Michael Brandonisio writes, photographs, collages. His creative expressions have appeared in Word For/Word, Small Po[r]tions, Otoliths, and elsewhere. He lives with his eidetic self in Brooklyn, NY.
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