I spoke to Sgt. Johnny Whykill,
on the phone.
He has survived on earth since our war use, as lives
bet, but not lost,
but barely. He lives in a VA hospital in Miami.
He can't even imagine dying elsewhere.
"Can't wipe m'own ****, but I can think about it."
Sad state, yet there is no undoing, there are
rethink the reaction to any pending next that seems
familiar, like a spirit, the kind not spoken of kindly,
speckled and spotted…
sorted by genetics with a
genius for splashes and whorls forming
one-off cattle of many colors,
mind me I am wasted with effort to empathize
via voice across the continent, over the gravity
under the weather
into the madness
through the rambling nonsense
settling down, when the nurse comes to wipe him,
"had to go, semper fi, bro, love you, thanks for callin',
you always make **** happen".
ONE GOOD DEED -exchanged
for all it's worth.
Life can stink and still be imagined as enjoyable.