Dreams of the Fallen

And I keep telling myself that if I walk far enough

or long enough someday I'll come out the other side.

Here is the adrenaline rush you crave,

that inexorable flight, that insane puncture

into heat and blood. And I dare you to finish

what you’ve started. Because here, Bullet,

here is where I complete the word you bring

hissing through the air, here is where I moan

the barrel’s cold esophagus, triggering

my tongue’s explosives for the rifling I have

inside of me, each twist of the round

spun deeper, because here, Bullet,

here is where the world ends, every time.

There is this ringing hum this

bullet-borne language ringing

shell-fall and static this late-night

ringing hiss and steam this wing-beat

of rotors and tanks broken

bodies ringing in steel humming these

voices of dust these years ringing

ringing these children their gravestones

their limbs gone missing

this eardrum this rifled symphonic this

ringing of midnight this

threading of bullets in muscle and bone this ringing

hum this ringing hum this

ringing

It should make you shake and sweat,

nightmare you, strand you in a desert

of irrevocable desolation, the consequences

seared into the vein, no matter what adrenaline

feeds the muscle its courage, no matter

what god shines down on you, no matter

what crackling pain and anger

you carry in your fists, my friend,

it should break your heart to kill.

And I keep telling myself that if I walk far enough

or long enough someday I'll come out the other side.