I promised Nick I'd take him out
of Pennsylvania, away from evergreen
trees and our troubles. My car leaked carbon
monoxide, but never enough to ****
us. Where we lived, things never changed.
Two out of three stores open on Main Street,
two gas stations where people paid $3.64
a gallon just to leave, a grocery store
that never settled on a name, and a police
force with histories no cleaner
than their patrol cars. If you've taken Route 6
through, you've seen too much. We dreamt
of Lady Liberty raising her torch to the sunset
in defense of the Empire State, or simply to pluck
it like a musician playing for pennies
near Strawberry Fields from the sky.
The Big Apple, where people make art instead
of excuses and the brightest lights aren't fixed
atop police cars.

Years have passed since our dreams died in '13.
We're stationed at desks in different hemispheres
for different reasons. All he has left are his lonesome
thoughts and all I have are mine. It won't be long
before my pen becomes a serpent and strangles
me in my sleep or my butterscotch disks turn
to cyanide. I'll always hold steadfastly
to our dreams underground.

Nick, I promise you that one day, we'll make
it to New York.

"I like to keep dead flowers by my bed" she said
"as a reminder that all beautiful things come to an end"
And as she looked up at me with watery eyes
I understood, by that, what she meant

Do you ever think
that maybe
our hearts
are on the left side
because,
love,
isn't always right?
-K.L.

by Arcassin Burnham




In this place with you tonight,
i could only walk in denim jeans,
holding your waste while we dance tonight,
i dont want to make you flea the scene,
And i'm looking hella cool,
and your looking so gorgeous,
no telling what we'll do,
Cause the night is flawless,
teenage love dont last forever,
And true love is in fairytales,
why can't you be the one and do better,
nobody cant stop our ship that sails,

too many pretty girls in dresses,
its hard not to stare at them,
she said boy i hoped you learned your lesson,
and i said girl the night won't end with them,
And i'm looking hella cool,
and your looking so beautiful,
no telling what we'll do,
Cause the night is so wonderful,
and teenage love dont last forever,
And true love is in fairytales,
why can't you be the one and do better,
nobody cant stop our ship that sails.

When you first looked at me like I was a rare gem, I saw your eyes glisten like the ocean when the Sun at sunrise hits it. I fell in love with you 30 seconds after you told me I was "beautiful"

2. The first time we kissed I swore to God it felt like a dream. All my nightmares left me and I was somewhere over the horizon with clouds on my mind and you in my veins. I tasted you for the next several weeks, I never kissed your lips again after that first time.

3. I thought that once you see someone naked you see them extensively and into their soul. When I touched your paled skin I felt like an astronaut and explored your skin like Armstrong on the moon. I've never witnessed something so beautiful and lovely. But you were the  moon who never fully showed her face. I realized I should've listened in astronomy class.

4.  You wrote pieces inside my rib cage and opened a new chapter inside me. Helping me realize I wasn't halfway near to where I needed to be.

5. I fell in love with the idea of you.

5. I fell in love with the idea of you.

5. I fell in love with you.

6. It took me over a month to come to the conclusion that I loved you.

7. I still love you.

8. I don't know where you are, or how you've been. You severed our way of communicating and I am so so lost without you.

9. Time has a way of putting things in order, but what do I do if the hands on the clock have developed arthritis and I am still forgetting memories. I am losing my memory. Sometimes I recall half of one, and pick up the ending of another, what does it mean?

10. I still love you.

10. I miss you.

10. I think I miss you more than I love you.

He was a West Virginia farm boy.
His name was Walton, Cpl. John.
I **** thee not; we called him John Boy.

Two bunks down from me
in a barracks at Fort sux Dix, NJ,
he would write poetry after lights out
by penlight. Drill Sergeants called him a *****
when one of the recruits hung a poem in the chow hall
that Boy had written about missing his little sister.

Boy could weave a line from Whitman
or Frost or Byron, even Emily
flawlessly into a conversation.
I would try hard as hell to keep a straight face.
Boy never cracked a smile. No one else ever caught on.
Funny as hell. And pretty **** cool.

Like during the class on E and E
when asked to summarize lessons learned.
"Resist much. Obey little, Drill Sergeant".
He earned a smoke break for that.

When asked where his home was during an inspection
by the company commander, Boy replied
"Perhaps it is everywhere-on water and land" or
"under the soles of your boots, Captain".  
That one got him two days KP.

Most famously, when asked how battles are lost he replied
"Battles are lost in the same spirit as which they are won, Drill Sergeant".
That one got a big Ooorah and earned him his corporal stripe.
Drill Sergeant wasn't sure what he meant, but liked the sound of it.

We were stationed together for almost two years, Boy and I.
We deployed together. He would scribble by penlight in the bunker,
then scramble across the sand and call in close-air, then back to the poem
while the ground was still shaking, constantly blowing sand off of his journal.

Boy was hit in the left femur by a ****** round one night
while calling artillery coordinates down range.
He always left his field book in his sleeping bag.
I looked through it before it was gathered up
with the rest of his gear for shipping over to Ramstein.

Eighty-three pages of ******* awesome poetry about his daddy's farm,
his grandfather's mountain home, the snowy woods during deer season,
the first girl he loved, dogwoods in bloom, his mother's death in an auto accident.
A beagle pup that he once had.

Boy went home to West Virginia with one less leg.
I called him one Christmas a few years ago
after finding his phone number through a mutual friend.
We shot the usual ****. We were both a little drunk.
I asked Boy if he still wrote poetry. He said no,
he didn't have time with all the ***** that needed drinking.
Not much left to write about, he said. Anyway, poetry's for sissies.

r ~ 5/17/14

If I was a mountain

That soared towards the sky,

With craggy snow caps

And stormy grey eyes-



Then you'd be the clouds

That swaddled my peak,

That silenced my thunder

When I tried to speak.



If I was the earth

The desert, in fact:

With arid dry soil

And mud, baked and cracked-



You'd be the rain

The downpour that soothed;

The balm to my bruises,

Relief to my wounds.



If I was the Moon

In the indigo night,

With stars as my blanket

And silver; my light-



Well you'd be the Sun

Just always behind

That lent me your glow

And caused me to shine.