You're an inspirational exciting jolt
Like an invitational lightning bolt
I'm suddenly shocked by the results
When I am blocked by your revolt

You have my beating heart in your hand
Holding me hostage where I silently stand
Staring at your ****** butcher's cleaver
That morphs me into a landlocked ******

You're a two-hander
Like a sledgehammer
Or a radar jammer
I start to stutter and stammer
When I see your weekly planner
And the lack of my presence
Because I'm incessant
You hold a pencil and an eraser
You delete when I become a tracer
And start to draw a better replacer

You hold the scales of justice
Though I claim you're unfit
You say add that to the list
From the throne where you sit
And there's no avenue for any recourse
When your other hand holds so much force
I must deal with your actions
So I can stay in your faction
For my heart's attraction

I am never right
So we never fight
And we never might
Understand each other
When we're taking cover
From exposing vulnerability
An exploding soul is filling me
Because the cold mist killing steam
Between us until you are only a dream
And my mind starts bursting at the seams
Until there's a monster barely mentally caged
But the bars shake when it is constantly enraged
When your saccharine emotions are cynically staged
My bustling brain will unfortunately always be plagued
By your neutral reactions which I'll never be able to gauge

You hold two hands behind your back
Will it be an attack?
Our two hands should meet
Instead I'm trampled by feet

if you want to find me
I am slightly left of centre
at the back, a different colour
more drab, grey even
quite unnoticeable
an extra in a street scene
there to make the numbers up
a voice in a choir drowned out
by those around me
probably mouthing the words
half remembered
a shadow on a sunlit street
where everyone is having
a good time, or on the beach
sitting staring out to sea
no small talk, not even hello

my mind is shooting
gathering experience
like tracer fire
target secured

In foreign land of towering pines
And hammocks, mangrove-torn
A dark-filled night reluctantly
Bequeaths a pale dawn

Upon one battered cypress perched,
Amidst the morning haze,
Bright eyes stare out from part-cocked head
With piscicultural gaze.

Intently focussed on the brook,
That glides beneath the tree
Alive to every shadow’s sound
Yet never truly free.

For choicelessly these eyes are drawn,
As waters break below
And like a flash a head snaps back
And rippled muscles flow.

Within the slightest moment’s breath,
Two mighty wings released,
Two claws full-stretched, two legs reach out
The sinews, strained, unleashed.

The beaten air the only sound,
As time itself stands still
And, tracer-like, on charted course
The osprey meets its ****.

With consummate and practiced ease
The painless end begins
The single deadly blow is dealt
As sharpened claws sink in.

Then up away into the dawn
And time resumes its course
Two final beats – then disappeared
Is this magnetic force.

The cypress perch and well-filled brook
As silent witness stay
And as they settle – calm again
The sun declares the day.

Remember when you traced over my photograph
in green paint
and it made me look like Shrek?
I hated you for that.
You're a talented tracer though;
I'll give you that.

Remember that one time you made a list of things I like
in your notebook?
I found it romantic in a tastefully subtle way.
I like that you noted my affinity for knee socks.
The song and the item of clothing.

Remember when I wrote you that poem
on Hello Poetry?
It was kind of cliche
in a charming sort of way
You never admitted to reading it,
but I know you did.

Daddy belongs to
an exclusive club,
out beyond
the rules of atmospheric
pressure.

On our precocious little fingers
we count,
on tracer paper
Mommy checks our figures.
Being she was never clever
with math,
she consults with the slide rule.

No crystal ball needed,
we all know where Daddy's been:
at the apogee of his ride,
hanging out in zero orbit,
checking
on his own figures.

He must be
lonely up there, fishing off the dock of a satellite,
until the moment he reels one in.

He does his best philandering
once we've shuffled off to school
and Mommy's found her solace
underneath
the hairdryer.

She's stopped looking up
at night
to observe the starry heavens.
They only made her cry,
which, in turn, made us cry— for her.

One time we heard Mommy tell Daddy
she knew all about his long division
and how he misused
his slipstick.

With the cruel turn of a smile
he reminded her
her math is routinely
wrong.

"Usually...but not always,"
Mommy whispers in her sleep.

Tomorrow is lift off again
for Daddy,
hunting exponentials
from
heavenly bodies.

For us,
the ones left behind in the wake
of his rocket trail,
it's
addition by subtraction.

At a time when I was held prisoner
By my shy nature
Especially when it comest to talking with girls
You put your best foot forward
In order to break the ice
Which was doing its best
To try and freeze me to death
As though I were but in Antarctica
So, I thought you my friend
Mind you, an assumption it wasn't
You called me your best friend
Not once or twice
But many a time
You even called yourself my sister
A trusting person that I am
I took you at face value
Which was probably one of the biggest mistakes
Of my life in entirety
If Australia dominated cricket
You were my dominator
Your name stands for desire
And all you desired
Was getting your way
When it comest to anything and everything
You were such a drama queen
You put the Kardashians to shame
Only your "bestest friend" escaped
From your terrifying glare
Which burnest everything in its path
Much like Lord Shiva's third eye
You were always right
We were always wrong
Again, with a notable exception
Your precious little "bestest friend"
What he saw in you
Only God knowest
Marking you absent in the attendance register
Which was but my duty
Turned out to be a crime
Fouler than ****** itself!!
How dare I mark the "Queen" absent
Even if she were indeed absent!!
How dare I support Chennai Superkings
Even if I were but from Chennai
Not to mention, a huge fan of MS Dhoni!!
East or West, North, South Or Central
Mumbai Indians were always the best
All other teams were trash
You and your whims and fancies
Driveth all of us mad
Quicker than a tracer bullet
As Ravi Shastri would say
Even to this day
But you were my best friend
Not to mention, my sister!!
So mum I kept
As would a fiercely loyal dog
Even when ignored by its master
After our college days endeth
I stayed in touch
As would every friend in the world
In particular, a best friend
But best friend you were certainly not
I can forgive even an enemy
But not a friend who cuts me off
For the flimsiest reason in the world
To you, I was wrong
Though reality speaketh otherwise
But hey, why would I want to lose my best friend?
So did I apologise
Not once or twice
But many a time
Though for the kind of response I receiveth
Might I have spoken to the wall instead!!
After ages and ages
Cometh your response
As arrogant as James Potter in his school days
You showeth me your true face
Nothing but a jumped up rich Punjabi Brahmin
Who thinkest she were the best
In not just India
But the world in its entirety
Gone was your sweet tongue
In full display was a mini Bellatrix Lestrange
Ready to **** even her best friend
As the real Bellatrix did
With her cousin Sirius Black
Well, I would rather I died
Than maintain a friendship
With a cunning ***** like yourself
You deserve not
A single true friend in the world
Not even your "bestest friend"
You smashed my self-confidence
Into a billion little pieces
Pieces that I continue to pick up
Even to this day
Something I could but have avoided
Had I not taken you up
On your offer of friendship
Which was but as fake
As the smile of a Kardashian
I endeth on this note
It is but a lesson to all
Not to get swayed by sweet tongues
Scratch beneath the surface
Then only showeth up the true character

Why pay the ferryman?
he thinks
she walks on water.

Alpha Pistols
It’s a nice warm summer’s evening in 2004
The cool man was on top of the Manchester tower block
He fires down with various guns at his lower targets
There is a builders yard two hundred metres away
The fork lift trucks zip about and disturb his sleep
When they reverse their beeper goes Beep Beep!
This riles the man and makes him madly dance
Round his one bedroom flat on the 22nd floor

He grabs all of his guns in a heavy holdall and rushes up
To the very top of the building where he can pop them
While wearing only his bleached white Y-fronts
He sits down by the edge and gets ready for war
From up here he can hear the fork lifts beeping
He grimaces and shakes his head then opens his bag
And removes a small tape player then presses play
The 12 inch version of So Alive by Love and Rockets

His chrome and ivory Colt 45 follows with three clips
Clicking off the safety he aims at the reversing trucks
Their blinking orange light and street lights illuminate
Y-front man aims and fires at the small trucks
His gun is loud and follows thru the muggy night air
Bullets spark off concrete blocks and one hits home
Going thru the windscreen and shocking the operator
Quickly reloading he fires again till the mags are empty

There are 30 different fork trucks in the yard and area
He killed one driver and wounded another in the leg
They are all instructed to to their job while able and alive
Next he gets a 45 calibre Grease Gun with long barrel
He opens the shoulder support and readies his toy
He stands up and sprays the yard from the hip
His grin sez it all as his sub gun blazes away
Two fork lifts collide and drop their pallets of bricks
Reloading he fires at the upended yellow trucks

Their gas bottles explode and cremate the drivers
His song is on a loop and goes on forever
With raised arms and eye to the sky he dances
Round and round he spins to the goth song
Next he grabs his Al Capone 45 Tommy Gun
It has a round mag full of bullets good to go
Standing and firing from the shoulder he goes
The recoil pushes him away from the roof edge

He leans into it and the muzzle flash is serene
The slugs impact all over the yard and 6 trucks
Snapping chains piercing tyres hitting drivers
Two are killed one hurt three are terrified
They still operate their vehicles as ordered
Second mag time and more damage below
A gas bottle blows in an orange blast of debris
While this occurs beepers still beep and lights flash
It’s a huge yard and there are many targets still

Slowly but surely he eliminates them like a surgeon
His next gun is a BAR Browning Automatic Rifle
This he shoots on single shot bipod lying down
It’s a powerful 7.62mm gun and simply superb
Each shot hits home and kills 4 operators dead
Explodes rear 3 mounted gas bottles and more
But the BAR does full auto too and he we go!
*** ****** full ******* auto 30 shot mag wham

Soon empty rounds down range more hits
The fire has been devastating attrition mounts
There are far less fork lifts now in use there
Burning trucks and dead or dying operators cry
In his head he’s the rock n roll man on a roll
I’ve got more guns to fire and now it’s my cod piece
Browning 7.62mm machine gun with bipod
I quickly pull the parts from my bag to assemble
Then a belt of 250 rounds with 1 in 5 red tracer

Happy it’s ready I click off the safety and fire
I’m sat down and hose fire downwards
I slowly move the gun left to right left to right
Impacts spark and in the night air tracer guided
My 250 bullets lasts fifteen seconds and is it
Nothing intact remains below working wise
I took out 30 fork lift trucks and operators
Many are dead some injured others hiding
Lastly I use my M1 Garand rifle with blank ammo

I fire eight rifle grenades at the builders’ yard
I pop a grenade on the end angle up and fire
The blank shell launches the grenade up and down
It takes seconds to fall and hit and Bang Boom Blam!
I fire 8 at random spots of the huge yard
There are no more reverse beepers sounding
All fork lift truck use ceases forever due to me
Now I can peacefully sleep in my room at night
Do not destroy my slumber!

A Story From Nam

We were seventeen or eighteen in Nam
we became friends forever.
No more than friends.
Soldiers get closer than wives.
We went to sleep saying
I love you man.
We switched letters
For our girlfriends.
In case… well just in case.

The bullets rained
in the clearing that night.
I can still see the tracer lights.
Guys fell down all around me.
Crying everywhere.
Air power cleared them away.

I looked for Joe he was lay there.
I held him close
like a baby as he left us.
His last words
I love you man.
I whispered to him
Not as much
as I love you Man
.
I did not notice I had been hit.
After six months I returned home.
In West Virginia his beautiful girl
Opened the door of a small trailer.
She had a baby boy in her arms.
Her blue eyes welled with tears.
I passed the unopened letter to her.
I lied and said the blood
on it was mine.

She passed the baby
to me to hold
As she read the letter.
I kissed his tiny forehead.
And said see buddy
You’re not dead at all
I love you Man.

The Flak hits the wings and body of the plane
506th Easy Company
Of the 101st Airborne

The leg bag
Tore right off
They jumped lower than they should have been

Tracer bullets burning holes through the parachute
Tracers spraying around in the air
Firing in every direction

Paul "Buck" Rogers
Lands in a tree

Some worked their way down
Through a farm area
To a hedge row

Easy Company captured and destroyed
The guns at Brecourt Manor
Saving countless lives on Utah Beach

They helped to liberate the Dutch
Angels from the sky

The black and white footage is amazing
The gratitude and love the people show
To the men is wonderful

Finally free after four years
Of Occupation by the Germans

Battling from village to village
Along "Hell's Highway,"
Easy Company crossed Holland to the Rhine River

Nine men of Easy Company
Lost their lives
Battling in Holland

By the End of the Holland campaign,
Easy Company had been on the frontline
For more than 70 days

On Dec. 16, 1944
****** launched his offensive into the Ardennes

The Battle of the Bulge would become
The largest engagement
In the history
Of the U.S. Army
600,000 soldiers would fight in the battle

Easy Company was told to hold the perimeter of Bastogne
Surrounded by Germans
Branches knocked off of trees
Holes in the ground

Artillery attack
88s, mortars, rockets
They jumped into foxholes
He could see all the shells hitting from the foxhole

The wounded got relief from battle
Maybe a ticket home
If they died they were at peace

At Berchtesgaden
They uncovered artwork

In Zell Am Zee, Austria
Easy Company helped secure
The surrender of 25,000 German troops

On November 30, 1945
The 101st Airborne Division
Was inactivated

Day after Day
They fought together
Fought for each other
Knowing some would not return

This veteran said,
"I cherish the memories
Of a question my grandson asked me the other day.

'Grandpa, Were you a hero in the war?'
Grandpa said no
But I served in a company of heroes."

The White Race
           &
The Black Base
In-fighting Nut-Case
Wearing kits & killing kins
Tracer bullets leave no trace!
Ak's & Ra's
Customized & hand made
Just Like Burger-king
Have it your way!
And this war is brought to you by
Your's Truly,
The infamous
NRA!
Cops shooting innocent by-standers on the block,
Innocent by-standers then copping Bump-stocks,
Dropping scores to make it count,
Odd murders 2 even out!
******'s posted atop rooftops,
Legislations to make him stop.
A "Mentally Challenged" Caucasian man who had gone AWOL?
Suddenly reappears like an Automatic A-hole
Posted @ the Hotel
Planning to **** wholesale
To get the maximum reward
Also to get closer to God,
Bodies 4 trophies
& Their Head's as his awards!
In the midst of all this
Another white supremacist
With absolutely no
Motor-skills
To run us over
& Cause massive kills
At Town Halls
Movie theaters and even at the Shopping mall
A Muslim nut-job
Planning blow-jobs
A darker American
A lighter Puerto Rican,
Or even a white broad,
Always someone@ur service
To start a brawl,
To ***** some skin
& Make it crawl,
To raise u up
Then Watch you fall.
Wild fires burning bodies bare
Of All colors,
From well done to medium rare,
White House to Gitmo
Water boarding & a bit more,
Laid back extreme sports!
**** 4 tats here,
Cliques & Gangs here
Bricks in the bag here
Clipped to the back rear,
**** yes No *** hair,
Shotguns no cab fare,
Tariffs on imports
Nuns & Nymphos
Hoes before bro's
Turning friend's into foes.
Deserted mill workers,
Over dosing on pill sherbets
Gettin' high 2 get by
Laugh hard then start to cry,
Suicides to feel Alive,
Straight up living
Just to curl up & die,
What a way to go
Get buried to touch the sKy!

I'm
Amused
Take your clothes off
Boot lace tracer
It's hard to face her
With her sole pressed to my chest
Homemade tattoo
Made you blue
Lemonade shade
Jaundiced and thin
The gods shine on you
And your polished black blue
Pressing on my throat
And your dagger presssed between my rib
Blood begins to drip
So fast
It could have been a shotgun blast
As you tore my mast
Spit on my sails
Wails
A clean ****
Black leather
Whether or not
Your gonna do
What you've been born to do
Betrayed with a kiss
Your miss
Thirty pieces of silver
And bread with no butter
They say shes a cutter
But she just wants the blood
Pulsing with *******
A torrential downpour of pain
As you cross that concrete bridge
To sin

At twentythirtyfour
On the eleventhofseptember
     a neuropathological tracer

Jumped from the box,
Lost poem; a title over rain
    men waving tins at a tractor,

And the later sleeping wihout
Rest; rooms full of waves,
    the ineluctable modality of water.

Truth is the trigger, and it's scent of the pure gun powder.
Guns hired, shots fired, crossed fired, everything hey wired.
Rippling of bullets, Trail of ****** rounds, Tracer rounds, all rebounds.

Faltering skies, Blistering eyes, all those lies, bullets fly!
Like sharp blade, taking turns to trade, those bullets raid.
Smoke in the barrel, those sweet gun carol, music of bangs vector zero.

reigning bullets, covered in red, shots on the head.
Spinning around, dazed and confused, all but train wrecks.
Street lights blur, speaking in slur, losing mind without a cure.

Love with the gun, all came close to none, and ready for the fun.
Squeeze to aim true, and everything blew, all those bullets flew.
Purity in those bullets, truth in the trigger, faith in the gun.

Those bullets in the dark, lighten by the spark, stray bullets embark.
Dripping of red, streaks of red, all those people dead.
Judge not the bullet, not the gun, but the man pulling the trigger!

The tracer track,
blood red mixed with black, black, black
launched by the monopoly to
make an attack on me and my
place in the
hierarchy.

In the whiplash flash and
as quick, the tracer track
licks my skin,
blood red
black lead and as
my body bends
it ends
just
like
that.

It is with great sadness that
I write to inform you

this is madness
the smoke is so thick
stitched through with tracer fire
I can feel it burning the back of my throat,
stinging my eyes

That your son has been
killed in action

my rifle is bucking in my hands
recoiling from the slaughter
before me,
as I too recoil
nothing makes sense anymore

Words can not express
the sorrow

everything is slowing down
blood kisses the air before me
it's-
        oh god
it's my blood
I'm falling

You must be feeling
at this time

it's so quiet
I can't move
        oh god
it's so quiet,
why can I still hear the screams?

Know that he did his duty
and died for his country

*it's so quiet
so cold
I-

Your skin becoming pastel finger prints
Gently riveting the drift
Letting blood like the month of July
Favorite blessings, dragging the stone closing the tomb
Assumed the tracer swiped my eye before the void space let it compost
Kirill committed arson, viddied a sin never seductive as this particular perp made it
Feeling all the goodness coming out through lipid ducts
And taking to the ground at my feet
Attached partners washing with mercury sulfide nitrocellulose, cosmetic choices
And rather letting in slow death chemicals
Ever like the beastly aroma of your saliva and salty tears

--------------------

Cut to the scene of horrors

I'm distant, some reason I felt for you
Some reason I dealt your feelings with you
Is it the glow
Face for face
That I was empathy, for you
That I want close to you
**** the poison out in hopes of loving your and the rest
Large screen projecting the best as it gets
Dark and when you turn
I thought I saw near skin erase and uncover bare bones to taste
All that I must **** out the poison from
This film was sad and glum
This film shown me the gun
Eventually that I was to orchestrate the ending from

I'm sorry I called you a pompous conservative,
and I'm sorry I'm not.

I'm sorry my focus is not on your intellectually cultured
examples of real life moments -
your 1988 Mercury Tracer taking its last gulp
of oxygen,
how nothing pans out to be,
your narrow expectations of others.

I'm sorry I don't fit in that canister.  

I'm sorry that others do not gravitate to
your beck and call.
your call is imperious.

I'm sorry my integrity flows in me,
rather than outwards.
I've never been one to exhibit my prizes.

(I'll just write about your buzzing blurbs
and your pick up sticks that amount to
your arrogance and pride.)

I'm sorry I'm a target
and my voice box turns into knots
when I turn the volume up.

I'm sorry that when I find nerves and pulses,
my body wants to notify you that you are
a *****.

I am sorry that I didn't.

On the night the last star fell from the sky
We took your grandmother's quilt to the trampoline in my backyard
Tangled beneath it
You shaved that day
I did not
I felt rude
You wrapped our legs together anyway
We watched them shoot across space like tracer bullets in a star war
Like a silent firework show in August
And sometime after the bats went back to bed and before the owl woke up to stretch his neck the last star fell
The night was so dark that there is no way you could've seen me staring at you
You blushed anyway
You always used to say you hated holding hands
I always assume you just didn't want to touch a sinner the way you touch yourself to thank God
You grabbed my hand that night and never let go
We spent what was left of yesterday trying to remember the shapes of constellations
Tracing them with quivering finger tips on each other's chest
Trying to guess its name from the feel of it
You were pretty good at this
I just kept guessing Orion's Belt until you felt bad for me
Inevitably speaking a star landed on earth that night
It was in the brown grass where the pool used to be
You must have kissed it while I wasn't looking
Your lips tasted of heaven
I thought you an angel
But you were still alive
I know this
I could feel your heart beat in my shoulder

We were seventeen or eighteen in Nam
we became friends forever.
No more than friends.
Soldiers get closer than wives.
We went to sleep saying
I love you man.
We switched letters
For our girlfriends.
In case… well just in case.

The bullets rained
in the clearing that night.
I can still see the tracer lights.
Guys fell down all around me.
Crying everywhere.
Airpower cleared them away.

I looked for Joe he was lay there.
I held him close
like a baby as he left us.
His last words
I love you man.
I whispered to him
Not as much
as I love you Man
.
I did not notice I had been hit.
After six months I returned home.
In West Virginia his beautiful girl
Opened the door of a small trailer.
She had a baby in her arms.
Her blue eyes welled with tears.
I passed the unopened letter to her.
I lied and said the blood
on it was mine.

She passed the baby
to me to hold
As she read the letter.
I kissed his tiny forehead.
And said see buddy
You’re not dead at all
I love you Man.

The day the music died.

We were all seventeen or eighteen.
The jungles of Nam were waiting
like dark visions in nightmare.
You get to be close as soldiers
more than brothers
more than wives.
The clearing was pretty
the feeling of an opening
in the dark trees
of the  jungle was a relief.
Then the light faded
eaten by some monster.
The flowers of our youth ended
in only a few minutes.
The tracer bullets lined
all the way to thier targets.
The petals of our childhood
fell like snow.
The imprints
of the carnage were
indelible tattoos
on our memories.
Out ofsixty boys
only five of us got out.
the dreams of my life
we're tainted red
from that day.
I visited the clearing
a few years ago.
wartime enemies
turn into just people
when the blood is dried
and flowers grow on
old battlefields.
I knelt down and
said a prayer.
Not to an uncaring God
but to my friends
who lost their youth
and futures in this jungle.
For whom weeping tears
was  just not enough.

The outer world is trembling,
boys are dreaming here,
you cannot hear their voices.
Metal clanking,
those fireballs &
tracer rounds
cannot touch them
tonight.
Not in this state.

9-11 POEM:

Dreadlocks of a Scream
____

Fever too high
Doze
hallucinate
doze...

...into the blue sky
and watch the tracer upward
tip
hesitate
and turn toward earth
Split apart
in the widening dreadlocks of a scream
One that took the whole world down with it

A woman is standing on an edge
hundreds of feet up in the open air--
Just standing....

“You-- who have mounted to the sky
will be cast down
with great violence
You, the golden cup”
set down

I am burning up at 103
Toss in the arid sheets
Chafed flushed cheeks
against this living desert pillow

Desert
Hallucinate
Can't get a GPS on where I am
or what's the time
But most of all – what just happened?

I toss and wake to slivered light
coming from another room
Hear the whispers
See their vacant faces
Must have walked into the den
Feel their shivers hush
My questions
Between the aisles of candlelight
and murmured prayers
I'm walking
Still in my right mind

“It's on the screen”
for all to see
without electricity

I have a fever of 103
--and the main question???

Why everyone's transfixed

Everyone
______

1-28-86-- Space Shuttle Challenger explodes, killing crew.

9-11-01-- World Trade Center
_______

“...Now so that your heart does not grow faint,
And you are not afraid at the report that will be heard in the land—
For the report will come one year,
And after that another report in another year,
And violence will be in the land
With ruler against ruler”— Jer 50:46

Where Did the Towers Go-- by Doctor Judy Wood

Whatya waiting for?
let's go to war
it's written in the stars
and was foretold both by Jupiter and Mars
that men would die in furtherance of their own greed.
So
feed the fires
light up the skies with tracer shell
we'll build another hell right here on earth giving birth to untold grief.
Belief?
what belief is it that turns and knocks the whole world flat
and with its tongue that flicks the switches on a gun would run to break
the men that would attempt to take a minute out
to survey just what is being done
in the name of God or someone's son.
It's all as one
and as one we all die
So let the rockets fly.

But there is this
some will profit from the death
and with hot breath and hotter hands will arm those bands
that would seek out those less meek and waste them
yes
some men become the unseen ****** killing as they please and if it pleases them then the men who profiteer
cheer
'hurray
more money in the bank',
they say.

It's just another day for some underneath the threat of the burping gun
and they run
how they run
can't beat the bullet from the gun
too fast
too fast
I pray it doesn't last
but my God appears to have gone for lunch
which is not a bunch
of roses for anyone.

I love you man
A Story From Nam

We were seventeen or eighteen in Nam
we became friends forever.
No more than friends.
Soldiers get closer than wives.
We went to sleep saying
I love you man.
We switched letters
For our girlfriends.
In case… well just in case.

The bullets rained
in the clearing that night.
I can still see the tracer lights.
Guys fell down all around me.
Crying everywhere.
Air power cleared them away.

I looked for Joe he was lay there.
I held him close
like a baby as he left us.
His last words
I love you man.
I whispered to him
Not as much
as I love you Man
.
I did not notice I had been hit.
After six months I returned home.
In West Virginia his beautiful girl
Opened the door of a small trailer.
She had a baby boy in her arms.
Her blue eyes welled with tears.
I passed the unopened letter to her.
I lied and said the blood
on it was mine.

She passed the baby
to me to hold
As she read the letter.
I kissed his tiny forehead.
And said see buddy
You’re not dead at all
I love you Man

I love you man
A Story From Nam

We were seventeen or eighteen in Nam
we became friends forever.
No more than friends.
Soldiers get closer than wives.
We went to sleep saying
I love you man.
We switched letters
For our girlfriends.
In case… well just in case.

The bullets rained
in the clearing that night.
I can still see the tracer lights.
Guys fell down all around me.
Crying everywhere.
Air power cleared them away.

I looked for Joe he was lay there.
I held him close
like a baby as he left us.
His last words
I love you man.
I whispered to him
Not as much
as I love you Man
.
I did not notice I had been hit.
After six months I returned home.
In West Virginia his beautiful girl
Opened the door of a small trailer.
She had a baby boy in her arms.
Her blue eyes welled with tears.
I passed the unopened letter to her.
I lied and said the blood
on it was mine.

She passed the baby
to me to hold
As she read the letter.
I kissed his tiny forehead.
And said see buddy
You’re not dead at all
I love you Man

old enough to repaint
young enough to sell
a bolt runs down my spine
every time I remember
that you don't actually know a thing
as much as I wanted you to
I am inevitably alone
nothing will ever change that
time cannot change that
regardless of my youth

I don't really exist; she doesn't want to exist.
I watched the ocean move the sand across the ceiling floor.
Stranded on an island made of blankets.
I'm eating hallucinations. I'm feeling color.
She doesn't want to exist because I don't want her to.
My mind can't fathom visuals so intense as a living person.
Adventuring down into a spiral void I was born with. I'm not scared. I'm not uneasy. I'm an Adventurer.
I started this journey with three others but now it's just me and her.
But I don't exist; she doesn't exist; this world doesn't exist.
I'm only here for a moment and then it's back to the **** of my mind. Back to shaking hands with reality.
But I don't exist.
I'm merely an Adventurer.
Never here, never gone.
Only a tracer of light .
Always vanishing but never truly dissipated.
I'm like space and time. Stuck in a black hole.
I don't exist.

We were seventeen or eighteen in Nam
we became friends forever.
No more than friends.
Soldiers get closer than wives.
We went to sleep saying
I love you man.
We switched letters
For our girlfriends.
In case… well just in case.

The bullets rained
in the clearing that night.
I can still see the tracer lights.
Guys fell down all around me.
Crying everywhere.
Airpower cleared them away.

I looked for Joe he was lay there.
I held him close
like a baby as he left us.
His last words
I love you man.
I whispered to him
Not as much
as I love you Man
.
I did not notice I had been hit.
After six months I returned home.
In West Virginia his beautiful girl
Opened the door of a small trailer.
She had a baby in her arms.
Her blue eyes welled with tears.
I passed the unopened letter to her.
I lied and said the blood
on it was mine.

She passed the baby
to me to hold
As she read the letter.
I kissed his tiny forehead.
And said see buddy
You’re not dead at all
I love you Man.

Who am I
but a tracer at the forefront?
a direct result of pain,
so these images
are always distorted-
disfigured and misconstrued
malignancy swallowing me whole.

who am I
but my disorder
scraping away at my vision
so all I do in return
is feel everything
and witness nothing.

I am floating above these memories
with my hands reaching out
to touch, fight or throw away
whatever it is that's holding me back-
when will my sight return?

who am I but
a chaser of these wishes.
a runner after dreams
that stay that way
because my feet can't move.

how do I answer the question
when someone asks,
"what happened to you?"

who am I
but a body?
one they stole
away from me
so when I look into the mirror
I only see what they did to me.

who am I
but a mind
too in competition
with my former self
nose-diving into
self-destruction
one thought at a time.

who am I
but a girl
in a dark corner
replaying her past
until it deafens her
and she doesn't
remember the sound of her own voice.
All she hears is the silence
of what she should've spoken up for.

Who am I
but a name on a list,
a placeholder-
a speaker to other poets?

who am I
but a lost destination
no one remembers the name of.
too run-down
and has-been
just a point on a map.

Who am I
but these things I feel?
Who am I
without these things I feel?

Who am I but this trauma
caked inside of my mouth, on my teeth
and hiding underneath my tongue.
When will I be clean?

Who am I
but a survivor
telling stories
of the past
like PTSD is my calling card?

Who am I,
who am I
who am I?
but the things they have done to me?

Who am I
but a survivor?
paint the word in red across
the lines I have drawn over these years.

Hang it banner style in the offices
of the therapists who know more
about me than my father.

Tell it to the people
who broke me in half.

say it again
to the boy who shattered my insides.

scream it at the face
of doubt and insecurity
and remembrance.

Survivor.
It is not always black and white.
sometimes it is void of color-
emotionless and distinctive

But it is who I am-
speaking with this
chestful of trauma
learning how to breathe
around it as I go.

I love you man
A Story From Nam

We were seventeen or eighteen in Nam
we became friends forever.
No more than friends.
Soldiers get closer than wives.
We went to sleep saying
I love you man.
We switched letters
For our girlfriends.
In case… well just in case.

The bullets rained
in the clearing that night.
I can still see the tracer lights.
Guys fell down all around me.
Crying everywhere.
Air power cleared them away.

I looked for Joe he was lay there.
I held him close
like a baby as he left us.
His last words
I love you man.
I whispered to him
Not as much
as I love you Man
.
I did not notice I had been hit.
After six months I returned home.
In West Virginia his beautiful girl
Opened the door of a small trailer.
She had a baby boy in her arms.
Her blue eyes welled with tears.
I passed the unopened letter to her.
I lied and said the blood
on it was mine.

She passed the baby
to me to hold
As she read the letter.
I kissed his tiny forehead.
And said see buddy
You’re not dead at all
I love you Man

I love you man.
A Story From Nam

We were seventeen or eighteen in Nam
we became friends forever.
No more than friends.
Soldiers get closer than wives.
We went to sleep saying
I love you man.
We switched letters
For our girlfriends.
In case… well just in case.

The bullets rained
in the clearing that night.
I can still see the tracer lights.
Guys fell down all around me.
Crying everywhere.
Air power cleared them away.

I looked for Joe he was lay there.
I held him close
like a baby as he left us.
His last words
I love you man.
I whispered to him
Not as much
as I love you Man
.
I did not notice I had been hit.
After six months I returned home.
In West Virginia his beautiful girl
Opened the door of a small trailer.
She had a baby boy in her arms.
Her blue eyes welled with tears.
I passed the unopened letter to her.
I lied and said the blood
on it was mine.

She passed the baby
to me to hold
As she read the letter.
I kissed his tiny forehead.
And said see buddy
You’re not dead at all
I love you Man.