Sunday, February 19, 2017

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

Friday, February 10, 2017

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?