Numbered Scrolling Poem

the goal was to close the
gap above my head before
it's host to a slimy droning
future, talking

new flesh but much quicker,

tenser seams to pick at -
though zero light aches now &
i keep having to reconstruct
my focus around preventing

some private rampage as my body
recovers from recent history
or every variation of newness
on this timeline

anthems

They turned me loose. I told 

my commanding officer my 

story. I said that if I had to go 

out there again I'd run away. 

He said there was nothing 

he could do for me so I ran 

away again AND I'LL RUN 

AWAY AGAIN IF I HAVE 

TO GO OUT THERE. 

All evidence points to a violence

you don’t have to realize to

expect a seeing and a 

hearing at the same time

and selected minds already

made up / big     man 

how recently has

death made you sick, did 

you have to watch it happen,

fit for duty as a stranger in 

every land? Ever wonder 

who grants permission to 

leave / the divine mystery

of an exit, its process? A running 

desertion, indeed, into a black hood 

bullets  high walls, and

so on. So nobody sees. 

And your knees in the

dirt or back against the ground, 

and finding you’re still breathing,

propped up, planted, heart 

recoiling from your hand, & you 

wait for death through listening. 

They keep saying, if you don’t like it, 

go home, oh, don’t

I know?