Unsent Message to My Brother in His Pain Leon Stokesbury Please do not die now. Listen. Yesterday, storm clouds rolled out of the west like thick muscles. Lightning bloomed. Such a sideshow of colors. You should have seen it. A woman watched with me, then we slept. Then, when I woke first, I saw in her face that rest is possible. The sky, it suddenly seems important to tell you, the sky was pink as a shell. Listen to me. People orbit the moon now. They must look like flies around Fatty Arbuckle’s head, that new and that strange. My fellow American, I bought a French cookbook. In it are hundred and hundreds of recipes. If you come to see me, I shit you not, we will cook with wine. Listen to me. Listen to me, my brother, please don’t go. Take a later flight, a later train. Another look around. -- p2: defenestrate --

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