Lying on the communal bed miles from
home and desperate, I bash myself into
other conversations, extend earphone
tentacle smuggled under sock; laughs
at the cover, I swear it’s good, track 14,
I listen to it in the shower at home, more
laughs; friends whose names I’ve forgotten
ask what it’s about, I try to explain, the
n-word plays and I stutter, more laughs;
the other day, while drowning in flies
stationed atop Charlie I grasp my rifle
and think of Tyler and his skateboard,
I try and remember some lyrics but
they roll down the slope, lost in the
undergrowth; on the last day during
the long march in the river you asked
about it, but this time I stop myself:
I don’t build bridges which won’t last;
I see myself still on that ridgeline,
cherry bombed running solo;
4 years later all that is disbanded,
futures odd and divided, wolves bloom
into flowers, I temper my expectations;
I open the window in a classified base,
from the upper deck of a wooden bed:
there I see the Buddha, glinting in the
moonlight, always like a nine.

—
spwm18 day 3