To See Your Brother Go

In pictures,
he already looks like a ghost,
somehow the camera captures
the truth you purposely forget,
fail to acknowledge;
but I can't blame you--

you grew your hair long,
because he couldn't grow any,
worked pottery with your hands,
because he couldn't control his,
laughed hard, laughed hard
uncontrollable and sincere
with him, because he can laugh--
and he does,

he looks like a ghost in some pictures with you,
all shallow eyes,
black and white, auras blending into skin,
those are the pieces you throw away immediately,
like touching them,
breathing,
might turn them in to truth--

he's a ticking time bomb of dying,
but you didn't expect he'd live this long,
and although every day your entire family
pretends to live it to the fullest,
so that he may drink every drop
of life wine,
he's so drunk,
oh, but you're so sober--

your brother admires you because you're so beautiful,
and your friends play with him like the twenty-seven year old
child he really is,
he dances, you dance too--
a special handshake constructed out of madness
trying to create everything you could possibly endure
with a best friend

before the slipping occurs.

pictures can be destroyed by fire or compactor,
they can be degraded under piles of the entire city's trash,
but the slipping has to happen,
the fading has to begin,

continue to love him,
your heart might turn desperately cynical,
but never let him know,
he should begin to ghost away with that grin
that beautiful grin,
his ghosting will begin,
and you, my human soul, can not stop it.