Uncle

we are going extinct. i wonder you, laid with eyes
rolled back in images on the cell phone screen.
the talk just keeps winding back up into its own ass,
and yes i was rude, though it seems to please people more
if i don't admit that right away. either way, we won't know
if you're scared or need our help, somebody is sitting with
you now she told me, the family that doesn't speak of itself
and all in all i can't blame you at all for what you didn't do.
after, and before that, i spit acid, always have,
you sit quietly at least. gets too close and i can't remember
to keep my legacy clean- maybe it comforts me to feel predestined for this.
i don't know why, that should be worse. i mean, the goodbyes are
unclear and the big picture is never the best motivation you know,
anything i focus on just cries when the machines
beep, my eyes turn them to stone, even if they're there
in front of me, and they are, looking fascinated, getting closer
to everything i fear comes out- things i'll never say up to next to
all the things i will- they have this phenomenon on not appearing real to me,
phone rings and the video stops, it all quickly stomps me out but
she opens and closes her body to the pain of it. her whole life
as your mother, the guilt that makes her climb walls, the way
she says i won't. maybe next time will tell us something
different, but for now the song goes on repeat and we're left here
blinking, home sitting ducks for each day later, blaming
the disease for knowing, the machine for saying so and
the hand we hold for keeping track