Who is the man weilding my gun
when time stops and holds its breath?
Cold hate runs in his veins—
steady, unflinching death.
Engines roar, radios chatter—
Silent! Vision, sharp and thin.
All existence is ending
the threat closing in.
Thumb pushes the safety—
click
Center mass. Steady. Hold breath.
Squeeze.
Who wore my skin?
Foe? Friend? Truly me?
Will I ever see him again—
Bold stranger, powerful-- fear free?
Mar 11, 2025
Mar 11, 2025 at 7:03 AM UTC
Storm clouds raged across the sky and the silver sea boiled in the wind.
The great green fin of La Isla de Tiburon cut the water,
Mysterious, so painfully close, yet dangerously distant.
Monsters swam the gap and past waist deep the ocean had a lethal tug.
All morning we (father, big brother, little sister, and me) hunted in the sand for clams and later boiled them in a sardine can.
Dad ran along the shoreline and into the waves wearing yellow trunks, hunting with a sharpened stick.
Dad, the Wildman —hairy and shirtless—ran for our entertainment into the surf and whooped when a skate flapped pitifully at the end of his spear.
My brother kicked a trio of ***** fishermen's gifts, kept them from scuttling back into sea, and leaped over them for fun.
Sardines on saltines tided us over as the main course—crab, clam and skate—cooked on burning drift wood.
We children watched in drooling anticipation as a claw, wreathed in flame rose in agonized supplication
then collapsed back into embers to cook. Froth bubbled out alien mouths and black stalk eyes.
Roasted alive seems an awful fate, but, oh, how delicious the meat!
Later, by lantern light my sister read her book over the protests of a gathering wind that scratched at our tent all night.
The sand spat out the tent stakes, but the poles held firm and our weight held our shelter down.
Never before and never again
I live here in my dreams.
Jul 15, 2015
Jul 15, 2015 at 12:11 AM UTC
I stand inviaible in the road.
Frozen in place.
Frozen in thought.
I have misplaced all sounds.
Soldiers pull their bleeding brother out an RG-33 vehicle
in a flowing current of hands and fingers.
gentle, urgent
They hand him off to a swarm of medics then collapse into a grieving cloud of cigarette smoke
The pants and boots—especially the boots—are coated thick with blood
so fresh, so bright
My mind defrosts, gathers a voice to shatter the silence
What a beautiful color
Feb 25, 2015
Feb 25, 2015 at 1:47 AM UTC
Our blood was too precious for them
"Take my blood," I said," A positive."
"I can't," said the medic, "you're American.
He's Polish."
We attended all the final farewells.
The dirge was in helicopter whirls.
The Poles wouldn't bother coming to ours.
We held them at the most inconvenient hours.
You know, in the night, in the dark--like theirs.
An unlucky Polock who stepped on a mine
(ironically this might have saved 3 other lives)
contained in him the same shade of red
and judging by the mess, he was the same shade of dead
as ours.
I found his boot--it had been blown off and away. We wore the same brand.
May 29, 2014
May 29, 2014 at 8:47 AM UTC
He was alone
Far from home
Isolated by bullets
As he bled on sand and stone
The explosion triggering the attack
Crushed vertebrae in a brother's back
A bullet tore through another's arm
The wound left a prominent scar
Through the radio, the lone voice of the isolated soldier:
"I've been shot...and it's bad."
Upon reaching the fallen, the medic knew from ****** experience
That his friend was a living corpse, dying is a process
Doc prayed he was wrong
He wasn't
Next week, next firefight
Their blood paid for our blood
Pray it meant something in the end
May 26, 2014
May 26, 2014 at 2:25 PM UTC
When clouds conquer the sky
The disposed Texan sun shines through in shades of grey
The air turns thick before the heavens explode
Pedestrian cars disappear from roads
Winged animals huddle in shelter
As the clouds weep sheets of warm happy tears
They make rivers of abandoned streets
Then come the children in bare feet
Blinded by heavy rain
Laughing, drinking, cheering, dancing
Lost in joy, absorbed by natural wonder
The clouds applaud in lighting and thunder
Driving the dancers indoors for warm towels
And Doritos chips, burgers, and video games
Mar 12, 2014
Mar 12, 2014 at 3:31 PM UTC
From up here
One slip is all it would take:
If I hit the ground I will splatter, and bones would break
As the wind buffets my body I feel alive and I grin
With death poking at me I feel joy and adrenaline
I feel joy and adrenaline
I feel joy, adrenaline
I need to do this again
I need to feel adrenaline
I need to feel
I need to do this again
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 8:17 PM UTC
I love you, heart and soul
Please, just disappear
I laugh at death, but a life of separation from you is my greatest fear
Can't imagine an existence without you, and wish you ceased to be
Though it sounds cliche, it doesn't feel that way, it's for you that my heart bleeds
Can't eat, sleep, or think through all this pain
After inexplicable joy of our first meeting
Separation has left me maimed
You deserve iridescent sunsets, realized dreams, all the best
Why won't you just fade into the grey mass of human strangers like the rest?
I wish you didn't need me too
I hate that I hate to love you
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 3:39 PM UTC
Canned latte, water, fruit punch Rip-It
Gulp it, down it, chug it, sip it
In the gunner's sling, sway side to side
240B in the cradle, M4 right side
Talk of ***
Talk of food
It's all allowed
Nothing's too crude
Sometimes you talk
Sometimes you listen
Don't talk later 'bout what's said on mission
Check alleyways, balconies, traffic, rooftops
At five miles-an-hour, this convoy never stops
Red Bull, Gatorade, citrus Rip-It
Gulp it, down it, chug it, sip it
In the gunner's sling, sway side to side
240B in the cradle, shotgun left side
In the distance, flashes of white light
Watch them bloom throughout the green night
Was it dust lightning? Was it a bomb?
Don't matter to us, this mission carries on
Two hours to dawn, eight hours 'til we're done
Check balconies, traffic, alleyways, rooftops
At five miles-an-hour, this convoy never stops
Sep 21, 2013
Sep 21, 2013 at 3:12 PM UTC
In a fit of pique truths were written.
In a moment of reflection all was deleted.
Platitudes were written back instead.
Who am I to speak of the dead?
A wife was ungrateful with truth.
Did a pen pal want
what the sacred vows of marriage
Make unacceptable realities?
For whom would I have written? Who would it have pleased?
Staring at a fresh e-mail in humbled wonderment
that someone would give decent pretense to care
I -safely back from war- now ask: what do you want to know?
Do you really want to know?
Is it my place to tell
of seeing a man's insides
on the outside
of a vehicle who's occupants he unwittingly saved
by stepping on the landmine instead?
The mine splattered the survivors' vehicle in red.
Is it my place to tell
Of listening to the medic's confession?
Hearing him speak of tasting the blood in the air
like pennies on his tongue.
There's a tale I haven't heard sung!
I met my Shadow
I embraced him so deeply that I
As I had existed before
Ceased to be.
The naive child thinking it was Light
The Predatory Survivor others (cowards!) may judge as Dark
Were forged together
Stronger perhaps
Time will tell
As the alloy of two selves is unified by a personal hell
Cheering at outgoing steel rain
Laughing after the whizzing of bullets is a memory
Running, racing to donate more blood
Mourning the fallen while bathed in the dim red glow of chem lights
Watching honored corpses loaded in near darkness for their last helicopter flights
Is this what you wanted to hear?
Perhaps you knew.
Perhaps you imagined you knew.
Regardless
For your consideration
Thank you
For your innocent
Well-intentioned
Beautifully petty
Gloriously naive
And honest letters
Thank you.
Truly
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 6:18 PM UTC