My Brother [juan diego]

like vines, twisted out from the same seed

reaching for the same light, 

choking on the same song 

like two crushed birds 

under the same stone

We are timeless, the same gagging non-locust of time

vomiting the tender notes by which

The day measures itself 

And with it they’ll dance, the very same dance

We are ugly,

same strange, same home

two tired poets