Silent War

Timid wisps of flame
upon the pupils of these
unnamed men.
A sense of trepidation
now leads armies into
dangerous terrain,
their skin, tautly
wound cords of wax-lined steel.
Floods of thought,
and violence unreal.
Between the faults of life we seep.
Among our dreams of time, we breathe,
We sleep.

Interview

Name?

Chance, Jason.

Ah, yes. And, what, Mr. Chance,
What is it that you like about the world?

I like poetry and music,
art sometimes, and good food.
A pleasant wine, or strong coffee
when I need it.
I like insight and good advice,
and the touch of a graceful woman.

Ah, indeed... good things, no doubt,
but what is it that you dislike about the world?

Sin, mostly.

Labor Day - 4:30 A.M.

I cannot weep amidst this darkened
flood of testosterone within my loins.

And all I think is death,
my death, my children's death,
that the universe be free of me.
All I think is death, is death.

Since I cannot,
the evening weeps.
Hear it now.

In Memory of Adolescence

When I was younger,
I grinded my life away building
shrines to two Maries,

I dreamt of song,
and sang, as fledgelings do,

I once wept, and dreamt of water,
as one plagued by unknown pestilences,

and I blindly searched for love,
amidst a sea of lust, and lost hope,
and gained it back again, many times over.


Now,
Though I am no Man as yet,
I mourn lust and sorrow,
and their former novelty,
and my untamed voice,
once a virgin lyre,
is no more,
and my soul with hands, uncouth
that somehow stumbled across love.

What bittersweet desire is this?
What tempered reminiscence
for the wild vicissitudes of youth?