We marched in circles for hours on end,
carried massive amounts of weight
in all weather conditions,
& all I could think about
were the beaches back home,
crystal-sands,
*** runners & bikinis.

But, such nice thoughts
kept me going.
Slogging through the mud,
the burning sun,
sleet & snow
with twenty-seven
pounds of ammunition
& my machine gun
was still not much fun.

Creation ****
   spread all over
      Vacancy.

Piercing my belly button
before I passed out,
a tattoo artist told me
that piercings are ******
I am reminded of this
in my surprising discovery
that pricking one’s own finger
is also ******,
in a slightly demented,
***** sort of way

My aunt Ruth wore red hair
a deep smokers voice
and matte lipstick.
She would implore me
for a hug
at frequent family gatherings
where the women were loud
so I stayed with my dad.
One day, the women coerced me
to embrace, by scolding me
for being rude.
My young brain could not connect
my fear with her voice,
but Ruth knew. She also
knew she was dying;
you don’t say “lung cancer”
in front of the children.
If it weren’t for the voice,
I think I would have liked her  
because most people in my life
told me to go away.