Wild Men




My war, my friend,
is with this life I’ve withstood
by not standing at all
but rather squatting
in the middle of this minefield.  No light
is cordial light &
every face is Vesuvian
fire.  When I last got
loaded, I saw Lucifer
down by the river.  Wrapping
me tenderly in barbed
wire & tilting his Molotov
cocktail to my lips, he whispered, "Lonely
people burn like magnesium
flares in the lap 
of the lake."  The marching men 
will come like autumn 
so long as there's anything 
to be divvied up.  

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