by Adam Wiedewitsch
sealed by orange crypt
coded rubber bands
above standard issue holsters
shotguns and buckshot
fatigues, badges and blouses
will be met by a young boy
one scarred by stepping
on nails and falling off pigs;
a rural type who knows
sacrifice is part of good works,
one who moved to The Cities
away from choked farmers
turned factory;
another crutched esteem
both mangroved and clear cut,
one with fucked wry smiles
of church basement potlucks
V.F.W. reception halls;
apolitical guy with instinct
fist love and police support,
one whose synapse defoliated
with bareback licks of Lin:
dedicated this to dearest with all
my sincere felings for you
love you very much love always;
and he ran from low plane sprays
stinging the flesh of progress,
cinched himself with a noose
hung from oil drum barracks;
an anguish of Bob Hope tone
joking in a carrion landscape
in the fall out of Tet 1968
collecting genes far from St. Paul
surviving in optical filter fraud,
then having some kids.
~
Copyright © 2007 - Adam Wiedewitsch
Published: 3/8/07 · Author's Page