Brother, Thanksgiving.

Where is it written?

My brother says
he can write my poems for me:

Oh, the abyss, 
I go like a flower petal
carried on winds 
of slanted ambiguity.

He is not far off . . . 

Stevie mocks me -
I love the game.
A sort of irreverent homage
to a relationship of blood,
a few bruises,
guts, song,
and 
hearts beating steady
(amid ambiguous winds)
some 66 years.