I have loosed
each happy thought
up into the air
as helium balloons.

They trickle away
from me. Free
in their infancy,

I know as soon
as they rise in me,
weightless, they
are not my burden.

So I send them away
to flourish,
to move in the opposite

Gravity pins me down.
I know I can’t pull them
to the ground
turn them in my hands

as a butcher, looking
for signs of rotten meat.
For spoils.
I watch

the bad thoughts
spread as cancer,
let the meat turn as
I feed and pull them in

Each stagnant pound of flesh,
a mirror, shows me –
this is you.