Sunday, January 22, 2012

he hasn't cried in 40 years.

a man sits, staring into oblivion
touched only by the passing wind--
residual currents of distant helicopters
or the memory of his former unit partner--
before he too
atomized into the infinite abyss
that now lays before him.

there is no horizon
no meeting of gods and man
because here divinity is bartered for
in the currency of cells
and we only gamble when we know we will win.
we don't get to melt our belted sword into the golden key
on d-day
only cadaveric planes in the graveyard for remotes with hope
that someday that mild droning will either erupt
or disappear with the breaking of dawn.

dawn breaks
orion occluded
and so we wait

until night falls
and the hunter can resume catching his prey.

a boy sits, praying,
staring at his prize
he touches positive to positive
negative to negative
currents of charge
and shifts left to right to left to right
he flies                                              his plastic dragonfly carrier into a wall
he wants to grow up
to be just like dad
and all comes tumbling after.

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