Strange thought before a surgery:
we're all guests signed in to visit  

at a nursing home for the gods -
we make our obeisance and tell them

of our doings and goings,
but they're feeble-minded, rheumy,

ensconced in cloudy rockers,
not watching or listening, perhaps

they reminisce on discarded cosmos;
we're forgotten, or, worse,

acknowledged but irrelevant -
either way they'll share no wise.

I feel only silence without and within
as I lie down on the paper bed -

casual as ice, the doctor carves
away the excess swim from my *****,

by needle, knife, and fire -  
his third on a humdrum Friday.

I gaze through ache at pock-faced ceiling -
it gazes back with dead fluorescence.

I sneak a look at a lustrous dwarf star
that caught me in its shining net

like an uncommonly nonchalant fish.
I limp to the car, up the stairs,

befriend the bottles of null,
the pocketless black: the new me.

In the stillness of early morning,
A silent call echoes in the heart of duty.
Footsteps tread softly on dewy paths,
A promise of sacrifice in every breath.
Memories of home and dreams deferred,
Whispered in winds that carry hope and sorrow.
The uniform hides a story of courage,
A quiet vow to protect the light of freedom.
Each heartbeat is a testament to bravery,
A journey that begins with a single, resolute step.
In the calm before the storm, the call remains,
Steady and unwavering, like a distant drum.

there are nights when my
knees write treaties on the floor —
of my surrender

Bleed your heart for paint.
Dip your pen into your veins,
Wring the refrain into the fine mesh colander,
boil your water
And feed it to your daughter.

I used to be a *******.
Now I’m just dumbfounded.