As You Rifle Through My Dreams.


As You Rifle Through My Dreams.
Bits of what's 
lead us to sorrow,
I count my bullets
in bullet-tins that 
chronicle the losses.
One for each heart
silenced by the impact 
of my cold calculations
One for the country
each mark the Den 
of iniquity created
And one for its art
copper jacketed, 
hollow point
sculptures of raw flesh
hung in mid-air
One for the bed
of earth beneath 
which they will lie
And one for the person in it
wrapped in satin snug
they decompose till 
only the bullet is left
I count my bullets
notching fingernail marks 
in my palms as I pray and
I count every minute
my face ticking as my lips tock
nervous mantras

I count my bullets 
because you taught me how
the bang which is heard
most often after the body falls
One for each second between then and now
richocheting through the heart of my grief
I count them every time they get too near,
I bear the graze marks of trenches dug
where men huddle, defecating in fear, 
But it don't matter, 
you still bring them back here
the stench of  your war stings my nostrils.
it's pain screeches from my tonsils

Hey Father! Look at what you taught me!
from the book of the dead, inscribed in blood,
in chapter and plots you point with a long range bore,
"It's okay as long as your own eyes don't see."
Hey Fatherland! You can't say it's not real!
it's real, unreal, reality, not meant to be
There's blood on your hands, even if you don't feel!
But are there tears in your eyes 
over each flag draped box revealed,
or are you dry eyed, petrified, 
that the next might be your own soul
which had already died when you signed the orders
to expel the souls of others, your own brothers.
by bullets I am counting as they fly.

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bayareagreatthing 7 years ago from Bay Area California

Very moving and emotional!

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