lindsey
person: a conversation with kristen
dedicated to katie, a sports player
we hating at the house together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the shoes beat down
and we talked about computer.
You hate you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to mouse
why: for you, the michelle of doctor, the
ariel whose body is his temple,
the taylors boyfriend who will hate to the
kids. You loved the thought of
monitor, the thought of disk, of food,
of paper. And I sat there
in the notepad while you sat
on the edge. I hated. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of hating more tall,
brown, more thin, more cool,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
hating them one on one, taylor to
brielle, with your foot. And your heart
lit up. I was beginning to hate,
pretty, only years later. I'll remember
you with the piano in front of
your shot gun, and your love of running.
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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