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The Vomitus Of War.

Updated on March 12, 2010

The Vomitus Of War.

Packed like

in the belly

of the beast,

and rosaries rattling,
armed and

fully loaded
we squat on

narrow benches,
wishing they

were commodes,
two minutes

before midnight,
target aqquired,
we rise

like lemmings,
checking straps,
muttering prayers,
then we hurl

ourselves outward,
in a midnight flight.



Graveside....11:30 A.M.

Water balloon eyes,
red sheened
almost bursting

at the seams,
face contorted into
a gargoyle countenance,
crumpled kleenex litters
the folding chairs legs,
as she sits graveside,
while yon priest sputters on
untruths about

everlasting love,
"He's fricking gone,

numb nuts."

She just

wants to run
worse than her

mascara has,
in a mad rage,
screaming across the
quiet landscaped grounds
kicking at the tombstones,
that soon will

match his own,
useless granite markers
of what is no more,
so why bother?

Thus she sits quietly,
keeping her composure,
while he already
has begun

to decompose,
not four feet away,
and she realizes
the stench of grief
smells like fresh dirt
and two day old flowers.



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    • Micky Dee profile image

      Micky Dee 7 years ago

      Actuality and factuality.