Opportunity grows flowers

Too beautiful for words,
My noble friends as they pass,
Songbirds in morning.

Like a ******* nagging
Ache
Embedded deep in
My neck

Just like the one
I wake up to
Every night
And Morning

I just can't
Sleep
Without that feeling
Greeting me
Every
Single
*******
Morning

They call it
Generalized Anxiety Disorder
In other words
My nerves are worked up
All the time
For no reason
Just
In general
Always
Neverending
Undying

I don't believe in meds
I feel like they'd only
**** me up
Worse than I feel
Most of the time
So I trudge through
These muddied
Hallowed waters
And thick jungles
Of fire
Accompanied by intermittent bursts
Of skin-burning frozenness

Nothing is good
Nothing is right
If only my brain decided
To be this unstoppable
In all the other areas of my life
Maybe things would be a little
Better
But they're not
And I work every day to make it so
My life might be a little easier
The next morning
The next night
The next go around

But I don't know
I never know
This **** takes hold of me
And throws me down that pit
Leaves me there with no food
No water
No love
It sits there
Smile, taps its foot
And waits for me
To die

It's Monday
And the hangover
Still lingers like
A date gone wrong

Or a fog

That won't

Burn off

My eyes are peeled toward a rising sky
Blood-orange
As the rhythms ring like bells tied tight
Into a folding solider
Shot dead running through the battlefield

Can I get it right?
This life of mine
Can I answer the question?
With this bit of time

Dreams where I danced not knowing
Who was who or where was I
Shattering a soul I never asked for
Yet feeling the weight of every hour

It was Monday last week
And I was thinking the same thing

These thoughts do not dissolve
They are not ****** away
Flushed
            Digested
                         Vomited or
                                            Disposed Of
And I watch the crow call
Perched high inside the sycamore tree
I see it, but it does not see me
Where I soon find it very hard to breathe

York leaves the page open, but the door closed
And each night I type I learn a new excuse
Caught in the west wind of a sweating hurricane
Seeing a face I do not recognize in a shattered window-pane

I swear
There is something
Inside of me

Give me time
Let me search

And if I die
If I perish before I do

Let the one's who remembered my oath know
That I attempted the possible
And that the money's in the bill-fold

It's Monday
And I'm working

Working to
Make each one
Of these

New

I was tripping, tripping
Over to Vietnam
Their hands were ripping, slipping
In hot blood
While I asked how many people they've shot
How many kids?
How many villages burnt with a fire so hot
So cold, the beers cracked open
Sweating like the citizens trying to stay alive
Rage trapped in their heart-like pig pens

I was told to take pictures
Told to record every explanation
Every lieutenant major gave a lecture
As calves were sewn to thighs
Thighs sewn, stitched
The thighs piled high
In buckets of ****** ice

I might have a son
I visited a madam
Down in la Drang Valley
Should've kept it in my pants
Now my sons running naked
Through streets paved in fresh blood
Pros ably pushing drugs or kidnapping women
Selling women
Because his mother was sold to me
In Vietnam