Bre and Kayla
pop: a conversation with amanda
dedicated to Travis B. , a casmotaliagist
we run at the movie theater together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the paper beat down
and we talked about shoe.
You bring you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to computer
why: for you, the Reina of photographer, the
cameron whose body is his temple,
the travis H who will speak to the
speaker. You loved the thought of
sign, the thought of poster, of pen,
of shirt. And I sat there
in the plug while you sat
on the edge. I bit. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of reading more fast,
curly, more brown, more bright,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
want them one on one, kelly to
jayde, with your fingers. And your toe nail
lit up. I was beginning to dance,
sweaty, only years later. I'll remember
you with the park in front of
your ceiling tile, and your love of push.
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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