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john-vdPoems
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
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Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 11:53 AM UTC
In Vietnam
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
Had the weirdest dream last night. I was a journalist or a soldier/photographer in Vietnam in the late 60s. This is a product of said dream.
john-vd
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john-vd
28/M/American
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 11:53 AM UTC
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