I believe that we could do it
If we really wanted to
I could really fall in love with you,
If I let myself.

And I bus home
On a rainy day
through the blurry embers of autumn
smeared on the Greyhound window
Remembering how she and I
Walked back after that movie
Our breath crystallizing in the wind
But barely breathing
Full of reverence
and sweet sisterhood
the cinnamon bun midnight
and soft whispers
of the life we used to have together.
Bury your sins beneath the heather
and hibernate in hypotensive hallucination
a final hallelujah
of appreciation
for the gifts that were ******
so prematurely in our arms
Straight from the oven
they burned our unprepared infantile hands
as we stood, indifferent to distant lands
and consumed by our own reality.
Well, we're grateful now.
Grateful in a way that destroys us a little
We both know we both know too much
to ever be completely okay
And who would ever want it any other way?
We smile through hard earned tears
and kiss the make-up off our years
And breathe the air of the country that gave us life
And we don't shy away from the things that make us hurt
And we thank the things that help us heal
And we know that home is never farther than a bus can carry us.

So I think we could do it,
If we really wanted to
I could really fall in love with you,
If I let myself

(Lord knows I need an adventure)

I am unborn,
clawing through clutter
and encouraging my salivary
glands to push moisture
through the will of hypotensive
medication.  

Laying next to my betters,
begging to die of a heart attack
while I *******.

It’s nothing like falling asleep next to someone.

I am nothing
but half-breaths lent as largesse to
a hypothetical togetherness
hurriedly collected in the night
and burnt into reels of film.

I ascend ladders,
my favorite has its base resting
in my spine,
I climb it up,
always up-

only to find lacerations  
in the fibers comprising my thigh,
and a lovely image of
a love that is not.

Your dreams
Haunt you
In the backseat
Of your Toyota
As you try to sleep
In the heat
Of summer

Not a piece of lint in your pocket
Can't even afford a chicken wing
But you remember when
You hit the foothills of the Himalayas
Home of that blue jewel, lapis lazuli

A young flight medic
Getting intimate with mortality
Playing footsie
With the angel of death
Pulling mangled bodies
Back to the rotary wing

A couple missions here
Couple missions there
Nothin'
Too
Crazy,

And then, boom,
Reality got stripped bare
Ripped holes in the fabric.

A break
In the hellish normalcy

You stared into the eyes of your enemy
Pale blue, almost lazuli

Just tryin' to save his soul
Nothin' like fighting at 1,000 ft, huh?

'Cause he's got his mind made up
As he reaches for your pistol
You're trying to start an IV

Ain’t **** crazy?

You already thought you were dead
A zombie saving the lives of the free

This has to be a dream
He was just supposed to be a casualty:

Shrapnel through and through
******* chest wound
Tourniquet to the right leg
One on the right arm, too
Vitals, iffy
Hypotensive, trending
Needed fluids, soon.

So when this *******
Started reaching
And couldn't nobody hear it?
You could hardly believe it

Crew chief and the pilot were talking
Not paying attention
Man,
Adrenaline is a wild thing

You struggle
He struggles
where's the ******* chief?
Guess death's coming at 1,000 ft

The bird howls like a banshee
And God's out on patrol
It's either you or he
This is the way  it has to be

There's a ringing in your ears
Is that his heartbeat?
Yours?
The chatter of your teeth?
Or just an animal roar?

Didn't get to see your mother
Your daddy either
Never felt their love
Now you know
They were just two people

Maybe you could've had a wife
Maybe a kid or two
after you got home
and all this was through.

Now, it's either him or you.

There's a break in your memory
As you return to summer
That's been happening more lately
Forgetting things

VA sent you to a specialist
Said you need more testing
Could be that
Could be this
Gonna need an MRI or contrast CT
Could be something
Could be nothing

You look up at the drooping upholstery
Hanging from the ceiling
Of your beat-up Tundra.

You still feel the sweat of the mountains,
You still taste the gasoline
Of that chopper's thunder.

Rat-a-tat-tat-tat-tat
Outside your truck
Gunshots
Clipping the horizon
On the other side of the parking lot
Near the Walmart beside Verizon

Ain't no lullaby
Just a requiem.

You close your eyes to sleep
But all you can hear is that chopper scream.