My brother rode whole teams of cougars through
the mall, screaming, his long blond hair ribboning out
behind him, his legs hairy and ribs hard
as asphalt. When he drank, he held jugs of water
before himself and let himself pour the water
into himself before himself would devour loaves
of bread and so many biscuits that the bakery
held 4o0 X 4 bakers, there were two dozen workers involved
in the washing of bakers' hats alone, there was a break room
filled with message therapists. There were days no one
slept more than a couple of hours at a time. My
brother would eat for weeks, but when it was time for
a battle he'd eat less. He'd still eat, but they'd close
the third shift. Some people missed the overtime
but most were just glad to work a regular ten hour day,
have a couple of drinks and play with their kids. By
the time I reached junior high he walked as if on a
trampoline. Springing up over the shoulders of the largest
men on earth. He was tattooed from the tips of his digits
through the vast ocean of his back and the wild
plains of his abdomen. These were brutal times in a way,
the way cavemen were evolving and beating each other to death
with big rocks. The tribesmen sucking on the marrow
of a bone, etc. a whole course of sagging evolution happening.
My brother's ear lobes were giant horse shoes and his
pelvis held a mint of silver. He boots were made of
leopard fur and leopard leather and laced
together with the intestines of a giant. He was a site in the
supermarket, eating a bag of onions while whiling his
way through the produce. His autograph was the size of
a guitar and his eyelids were like peach-halves.
But that's all done with now, anyway. Long live the Captain
Spider of Love! Long live the Beloved Blow Torch of Coma!
Happy life to the Supreme Star Super Power of Odessa
and the Earth! All hail Lord Owns It Suburbia!
