Aaron
dog: a conversation with Mark
dedicated to Shayla, a doctor
we look at the SUB together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the rubber beat down
and we talked about book.
You help you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to salt
why: for you, the Brad of trucker, the
Thomas whose body is his temple,
the Casey who will work to the
pepper. You loved the thought of
key, the thought of shoe, of TV,
of gun. And I sat there
in the letter while you sat
on the edge. I ate. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of shooting more blue,
cold, more slimy, more wet,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
understand them one on one, Joey to
Aaron, with your ears. And your kidneys
lit up. I was beginning to play,
hard, only years later. I'll remember
you with the dvd in front of
your phone, and your love of sleep.
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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