my fingers, the same fingers that played the guitar I mean look at your fingers, the same fingers you licked after getting the sticky pale red juice from a cherry popsicle on them my fingers were dug into the tall grass my mouth, the same mouth I kissed Amelia with, the same mouth I ate hamburgers with, was pressed against the ground so tight mud was getting stuck in my teeth and my ears, the same ears that heard my first sounds were filled with colored noise, with black noise with screaming from people I thought I knew and those mortar and AK 47 rounds that came as fast as hail stones and then those same ears started ringing, but ringing is not the right ******* word because it doesn’t sound like school bells or phones you are eager to answer and I can’t describe what is sounds like and anybody who does wasn’t really there but it is easy to say 45 years later it was like something you knew, but you didn’t know whatever it is you knew, and contradictions are imperatives and declaratives, not interrogatives like the people of “the world” think they are and people of the world are filled with interrogatives and you are filled with answers that won’t come to your tongue because you are still spitting out the **** from the rice paddies and the lies you needed to keep you from sticking the barrel in your own mouth, but they, those who weren’t there wanted to believe even more than you so they could still look at you without thinking the blood on your hands, the blood coming from your lost limbs the blood oozing into the mire in some script the dead donor did not know--all that blood could not be spilled in vain, though you knew it meant little when you rinsed it from you boots, or even when splattered in your face the same face that smiled for the little gray square in the year book eighteen months before or maybe a million years ago in the land of affluent aphorisms and fingers on bra straps rather than the rock and roll auto switch of your M-16 the fingers, the same fingers that squeezed the trigger and killed something inside you while the rounds sliced the exploding stinking air you were happy to silently breathe