This poem recently appeared in The Vein, a great young zine. To read it there, and my other poem, "Booby Trapped" go to this url:
To see my review of The Vein, go here:
"Hit" is from the perspective of a soldier who has just been shot.
Will the American people ever protest the evils of war with a 60's-intensity again? We have become so beaten down, so docile, so unsparkable.
what was was fragile.
a shard of scream to the jugular.
he had no could not compensate.
to come back was not to couldn’t be a new start:
only trench itch and a mouth of cotton,
friends blown to fleshy scripts
sheaves of them in sheets.
there was no did no had no
felt no saw no meant no god.
bodies left by the bulldozer
in mud that turns red where
even a worm is great. five worms
are almost tender, like a girl’s hand.
there would no couldn’t kiss a girl again.
less fireflies than stars
under the battlefield moon.
such secrets in breath!
strange that ever would surprise him,
or that legs weren’t sticks.
bird lying wings cracked back broke by canon roar.
sad chirp stomped boot-flattened
last thing couldn’t be but must
he had to see.