home head

he came up for air -

we all held our breath

as he slurped

oxygen for the first time,

as though being born.

we heard the song

in his mouth, a chorus of

bent light forcing its way through

gaping serenity.

upon a thin weed,

warm air blows and grows

into a field of tempting pleasure.

we all watch him,

wondering if our hardship

of holding him hostage

is coming to an end.

i've learned to drown

the emotion i attached

to this figure we call father.

this impossible man -

dead poet,

pulling lightning from air

and charging us with

involuntary manslaughter.

his anger must pass

over our graves,

before we release him

back into the world

where we first found him.