In my family of origin,

laughter was tears.

Anger was forbidden.

Play dangerous.  My brother

and I ran different ways.

He made money.  Stole it.

Flew through the skies

in a borrowed airplane

and crashed.  I hid out

in a room, got drunk

on words, breathed Melville

till I jumped over the moon.

Lick the pages, poet-man,

suck down black ink.

Rest your head

on a copy of Rumi.