bricks

I.

I chipped this tooth

trying to gnaw

through

the bricks in the bell tower

that overlooked

the country club golf course

tucked away under

dim and dead suburb-street-lamps.

misplaced middle-school mitigation

thrown up

into stolen golf carts

whirring through sidewalks

over the shoe prints

of neurosurgeons.

I thought maybe

some lost

or fallen

seraph

sat in shadow,

up there,

watching us sneak over sandpits

tromping away from sun

lawn lanterns relocated

to a hiding place in the woods

where we arranged them

making circles in our sacred dirt

before making the neighborhood news.

II.

I really chipped this tooth

bringing up a microphone

too fast.

and this one

from pissing off the wrong youth crew.

i woke up on the floor of your kitchen

to you

and a veil of towels

my blood

all over

the brick wall

dripping a trail

up the basement steps

then i remembered;

the catholics.

the school.

too,

was built

with bricks.

III.

I half expected

your body to shoot up

and demanding

the funeral home's muzak

be brought to a fiery halt.

or you to make fun of us

for "wasting good paint."

but you just laid there.

Krylon cans filled up the casket

and for the first time;

you said nothing.

and that priest kept talking.

and the crucifix remained

right-side up

sitting there,

i hoped somehow

someday

you'd put all that paint to use

and i wouldn't have to chew so hard

through the bricks

in the belltower