@ the gym i lift halos
& get my skull crushed in the process.
heavy as a teaspoon of supernova dirt.
there are cycles that were never meant for me.
the way the sun leaves halos
in your eyes if you stare too long.
going outside to cut a body
from terryclothe. jumping rope
while the kick boxers pretend the punching bag
is their fathers or god (what's the difference).
they say exercize is a form
of stress release. i find my heart
is a nest of finches. i collect strings
to help them build. as if my body could ever
be made into something less transparent.
i was cocky. i thought, "maybe angel."
i found a long mirror to ask my muscles
about their topiary. a breeze threats
to pull leaves from the sockets.
the angels go into a bee hive to train.
for me i have a sweaty bench.
watch other men's hands gripped
around the necks of barbells.
what are they lifting? i guess
the better questions is what do they think
they are lifting? once on a bad day
i lifted my whole family all the way back
to grandfathers. no one noticed
so i gave up. more people should give up
more often. i reccomend once a week.
i stand in the middle of the halo
as if glows like no tomorrow.
there is no tomorrow at least not for
my strength. i flex as if
a muscle could become a home.
i do not know how to be divine
but i do know there are
figure skaters who help inspire
the shape. they are all evaporated.
tracing the circle with a finger
just to hear it sing. my skull
in stained glass pieces.
who needs a good body after all?
the halo can belong
to someone else.