Spring 2009 • Vol. XXXI No. 2 PoetryApril 1, 2009 |

My Waiting Brain

i There are certain pathways he must follow when he goes into my brain, or else something catastrophic might happen he said. He said any kind of bleeding in the brain is not good and should be avoided. I think he was talking to himself. Meantime, my waiting brain said Love yourself; love your pain and your illnesses waiting down the road for you like old friends in the shade. Better spend some time tonight looking at the stars. ii Empty again like the dead hawk's heart is empty of blood on the     highway   where it must have slammed into the truck's windshield at say sixty-five miles an hour,   is how my brain says the world looks today, although it may be this unseasonably warm winter of green grass,     and geese   who don't know which way to hoot that has my head spinning;   the way a too warm December evening can hold still its last moment of light, right before your eyes. iii Help, my waiting brain says, and then, Fuck you.

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By Bruce Weigl

i There are certain pathways he must follow when he goes into my brain, or else something catastrophic might happen he said. He said any kind of bleeding in the […]

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