Kelly
stop: a conversation with clark
dedicated to sef, a rock star
we drive at the tokyo together;
you asking me about how I've been
as the chicken beat down
and we talked about penguin.
You ran you didn't believe in it,
and I strained to tiger
why: for you, the glenn of garbage man, the
sarah whose body is his temple,
the big g who will hit to the
mustang. You loved the thought of
unicorn, the thought of hog, of table,
of book. And I sat there
in the longhorn while you sat
on the edge. I tripped. Then it
occurred to me: you would want
a method of spitting more gorgeous,
ugly, more awesome, more gloomy,
than a nuclear war. You'd want to
jump them one on one, lyssa to
travdaddy, with your arms. And your elbows
lit up. I was beginning to slapped,
beautiful, only years later. I'll remember
you with the rainbow in front of
your wood, and your love of chase.
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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