Veteran's Day

Your death we celebrate today,
nothing more American than a dead soldier.

Let's drink to that.

The good ol' boys will proudly raise
their cheap bottles at the bar
for you, Sir.

Because that is the proper
thing to do.

Patriotism.

They will salute the flag,
and turn on some sad country song
about a truck
or a dog
that somehow reminds them
of a story.

Back in high school when you
out ran the county cops
on a dirt road
with your headlights off
at 2 in the morning.

Don't you worry,
today they will make you
a legend.

Your name will be told
to every stranger
that walks into this place.

They will talk about your
bravery
they will talk about your
honor
but not a soul will talk about
how or why

You died.

And why you keep dying,
day after day.

For a folded flag
given to your mother
at a closed casket service.

Nobody wants to hear about that.

Especially not the patrons
at this local dive
with that sweet gleam of ignorance
in their eyes.

It's too much for them to take,
so I just take it myself.

They wouldn't believe me
if I told them anyways.

Or they'd forget it
by tomorrow.

Because honestly,
only today is

Veteran's Day.

Cauterize

Yes, I suppose it is possible
to grow tired of stepping on
flower petals buried under dirt
roads. And knowing exactly how
melted skin sticks to metal doors.

...but wasn't it you? Digressing
like an afternoon. Barking bite
sized bullets like bees. Pollinating
hillsides of the Hindu Kush. With
blood, sweet like honey. Dripping
bits of life. Staining the tops of
your boots.

Yorktown

Yorktown

We danced. You used to dance me to sleep.
In that house by White River. Where the backyard
flooded every spring. And you wore a wool hat
every summer. When a meandering moccasin made
its way to your back porch. And you would catch it.
The same way you did that rat in a backroom
dryer vent. But better than the way you caught
your mind. Forgetting. Slipping. Forgotten. Gone.
Just like it never happened.

Shedtown

Shedtown

He was raised that way. Back then they all were. Built like
statues. Growing up. The way their fathers taught them. To
take a fist like concrete jaws. Of generations past. That beat
life and wars with twelve ounce gloves. A glass of cheap
scotch. And a loaded shotgun. That painted holes in the wall.
Of the house by the ball diamond. Where your brother lost
two teeth in an alley. One finger in a bar fight. And three years
in a jungle.

Homecoming

Homecoming

I’m sorry dear,

but lately I can’t
fight
this insatiable need
to use
my hands

for

   something

to

  do

    something

anything at all, really

like reach into

the back
of my mind
&
remember what
it was like
to
hold you
before we became
strangers

before we became

two people
chasing
shadows
of what
our lives used
to  be
like

before.

before.
before.

Blackbirds

Blackbirds

Blackbirds look like pepper
in the sky
and go
whomp, whomp, whomp
when men jump
out
of their bellies.

Blackbirds breathe like jackhammers
pounding the air
and spit
lead teeth
when they kill
their prey.

Blackbirds cry like bottle rockets
on the 4^th of July
and piss
clouds of smoke
when they crash
to earth
with their broken wings.

Blackbirds steal your men like ladies
of the night
and whisper
sweet nothings
in their ears
when they begin
to remember
their way back home.