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I stroked your hair with cigarette stench fingers
and drowned your lips with whiskey coated kisses....
Surrounded by mud
our feet make love to the surface
                                                        the bullets kiss us, the bayonets hug
                                                      our intestines.....

                                         The blankets
                                        cuddle with our cold, decaying corpses

we write to our wives, letters that will never be delivered

                    the wet ground gives our feet an unpleasant present
                    in the form of gangrene,

the rats  make themselves at home,

feasting upon the rotten
                                 flesh of fallen comrades.....

the maggots make use
of newly formed skulks and aged decaying bone

                                         then comes the symphony of artillery....

    the roar of gunfire, the marching of tanks
                                                    the mighty foot soldiers, and
                    the majestic golden smoke of mustard gas

          the trenches become our unwanted love
         and our unholiest of homes......

"The tears do not shed
the blood does not spill, and the soldier does not die"
is the common the battle cry sung upon us


            these bitter notes of blind fate forever sing to us
                                          

                                               the illusion of life and the irony of war.....
The slickness of a blade
pressing against a throat....
the cold steel meeting tender flesh
blood drips and a body tumbles

the taste.... the sight... the sound....
all quite euphoric.....

Ripped clothes, smashed items,
echo screams, and the raging fires that glow throughout the night

The beauty.... the savagery.... the destruction
all quite euphoric....
Combat....

though morbid in nature, there is a sense of beauty....

for example -
the bullet and it's chamber
the slickness of steel, and the power of the trigger
which together correlates the symphony of motion
from the time the trigger is pulled, to the
daunting escape of a bullet, and then finally to the ******* of it's victim.....

Quite morbid... yet hauntingly beautiful.....

Then come's the bullets quintessential cohorts

The Chemical and The Armored Car (a Tank)

The brutal barrage of steel cartage
crashing into unstable masonry
then the soothing smog of golden mustard gas...

The echoed shrieks, the violent shakes,
the ****** eyes and mucus filled noses
whose violent episodes finally conclude
when the eyes of death stare back at them...

Quite morbid.... yet hauntingly beautiful....

The finally... how can we forget the noble foot soldier?
his footsteps, silent to the earth....

out of the hysteria and chaos
two men, two weapons, and a whirlwind of emotion  
nationalistic pride, paranoid fear, and  scattered  tranquility...

A sign, as is to say....
"I don't want to fight, but I have to..."

Which all correlates in the ****** of the bayonet
a twinkle of blood, and then finally the gentle weeps...

Quite morbid.... yet hauntingly beautiful....
A pack of cigarettes, some gum,
some condoms, and $50 were stuffed
into his cargo pocket, in his left hand
a 9 millimeter, 10 rounds in the clip
he spotted a dead Vietcong.....

                                                              Yellow and scrawny....
                                                             a bullet through his right eye
                                                             his brains seeping out of his skull....

                     A little girl, walking down the dirt field road
                     a rice bowl in her right hand,
                    a bayonet in the left, it was covered in blood

Up the road, he spotted a fire,
the sounds of AK-47's whipping through the wind
a pile of bodies stuffed on top of each other

                             Ears and fingers wrapped around bare skinned necks
                                                                       the smell of rotten flesh....

                        To the south, a *******
                        high heel boots, lace *******
                        and a mini skirt, unkempt hair, pitch-black
                        red lipstick and hazel colored eyes
                        $50 for a hand-job, $75 for a *******
                        $100 for one hours and $200 for two
                       condoms still stuffed in the cargo pocket

                    A back alley, a sloppy *******
                    the ****** broke.....

                                                              The gum is still wrapped in foil,
                                              unwrapped, slowly chewed, sweet then bitter
                                           the roar of helicopters and the blast of grenades
                                                         American flags ripped and set on fire
                                                  A single bullet, a silent gasp.....
Here I am, sitting in a box,
confessing my sins to a man
who has committed more sins than me....
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