Casulties of a Poet's War
Words lying around
on my pages.
I tried to save them,
but at last,
I loosened the tourniquet
and let them bleed out onto the paper.
Poems as donors,
unfinished
used now for parts.
As I conduct a post-mortem
on my body farm of work,
I thank you for your sacrifice.
You gave up your lives,
so that other poems might live.