(going, going, going on beyond, always going on beyond)



Helium: created either by nuclear fusion or radioactive decay of the earth’s crust. Artificially manufactured helium is more expensive than hydrogen.



It’s the breath, intentional


but, why do I feel like I do?


One must die to awaken to Eternal Life,
and all I can think is
Saturday morning cartoons


my arm raising like a balloon,
my life that occupation
in whatever country


(it doesn’t matter)


I’ve never believed in anything.



Balloons are words. Walking around
the house like they own this shit. Sometimes,
they slip out of my hand and fly
the fuck away into the goddamed sky. But
that’s no way to live!
A white balloon
can be a puppy or a skeleton.
A motherfucking skeleton. You’re
probably wondering why I’m cursing so much.
Because curse words are like fucking balloons, too!
You can never have too many. I saw
a movie once where an old man tied enough
to his roof, the house ripped out of the ground.
Imagine that: a whole house floating through
the sky tethered to a rainbow ball of naughty words.



All the helium will be gone in thirty years. No more MRI scanners or radiation monitors, no more children releasing color into the sky, eaten by faith.


Once, I was washed in the blood,
it only hurt a little:
a birthday balloon deflating slowly, hiding in the closet
Tuesday. Under the bed Friday night.



(The kids don’t know balloons explode at ten kilometers.)



believe in the breath
butnotthe life


the answer is in the question


Life turns into actual static.


A helium balloon floats because it’s lighter than air; somewhere up there, the air is lighter and the balloon can’t go any higher. This happens long before she reaches space—unless an astronaut carries her.


My daughter is a balloon artist. She’s mastered
the dog (wiener, poodle, long or short tail, big or
small ears) and the sword. The swords are standard
issue. She works for tips only and learned her trade
from Ronzo, (Branson’s premier street clown).
They bonded while making a poodle hat.
When she grows up, Saisha wants to be
a combination of Ronzo, Weird Al, and Katy
Perry. Because who wouldn’t want to be an
accordion playing pop star clown who floats
around on a giant balloon dog. At least
I got this right.