I didn’t mean to I swear I didn’t mean to
write or call or recollect but out there prowls night
a dapper demented night satin slippers cloak
visor the works wielding sparking pain and a moon
a flammable moon in gloved hands set to ignite
belly marrow muscle pharynx scorch synapses
in a right cortex then snipe snipe with blithe intent
membranes on the nape of a neck for target practice
and plant thistles between ribs strafing the refrain
Quizas Quizas Quizas all along to vanish
survivors language longing learning the ground
underfoot thought will try and flee to you sane you
Six thousand miles south to a mound a metronomed
mound bedclothes and hand-woven dreams voice wrapped around
my absent chest hands flexed to draw and transfuse free
breath and will from four superconductive fingers
to lungs waterboarded by fire phlegm blood and fear
old fear hard to defuse and thumb stroke-stroke-stroking
a path away from safety into training camps
for shell-shocked conscriptees one where honourable
discharge is never an option and deserters
detained as long as the sun twelve billion years
of dapper demented night in satin slippers
with no more your voice nor fingers for sanity
There are days when I hate you for the endless battle
mine not yours that you sustain by reviving breath
I could hate you already for such a tomorrow
where you might not be to bookend this being.