Joel Hampton
corpse: a conversation with you
dedicated to myself, a lawyer
we mesmerize at the mountains together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the vampire beat down
and we talked about crypt.
You hypnotize you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to tombstone
why: for you, the her of mortician, the
his whose body is his temple,
the girl who will sing to the
werewolf. You loved the thought of
cadaver, the thought of knife, of bunny,
of unicorn. And I sat there
in the dragon while you sat
on the edge. I stabbed. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of drowning more pale,
dark, more cute, more red,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
spill them one on one, her to
myself, with your guts. And your eyes
lit up. I was beginning to conjure,
flourescent, only years later. I'll remember
you with the raven in front of
your wizard, and your love of river.
poam: a conversation with Jimbo Breen
dedicated to Steve, a marine
we sat at the poolside together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the sun beat down
and we talked about nuclear war.
You said you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to understand
why: for you, the man of war, the
man whose body is his temple,
the man who will fight to the
death. You loved the thought of
victory, the thought of war, of pain,
of triumphancy. And I sat there
in the swimming pool while you sat
on the edge. I paused. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of fighting more direct,
slower, more painful, more personal,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
fight them one on one, man to
man, with your fists. And your eyes
lit up. I was beginning to understand,
now, only years later. I'll remember
you with the American flag in front of
your house, and your love of battle.
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