Watch The Road
Watch the road
Nature goes inevitable
Blank city connected space
A ship breaks the trees
No metaphor of shipwreck
Sea hating and depressing
Turning at a noise
A few great engines pathetic, regular and horizontal
I stumbled across a war Poet, in place in cold November
finding blank pictures, brief notices.
I saw falling soldiers, attention to line
I wanted to meet the author of those days know I didn't have to speak to him, all dead and awaking from unusual dreams.
Heavy with burst balloon face, eyes like a day in childhood, blurred and pastel.
Alive and hopeless, St George and the Dragon- monster still breathing.
He had time to shit himself, this shows a lack of imagination.
He tells me nothing! , has empty pockets.
a girl shares his photograph, holding her so close you could smell the paper she was made of.
a lover was here, the lips don't move, kiss dried worms in fresh roses.
Face down in grey waters, a rising and dying god, empty of soul.
war poet apart shows a lack of simile, he simply stinks and rots, glimmering.
I envy his insight, to find death before sleep, death in forgotten places, know the experience continue to write.
I read the War Verses:
dead boys alive,
buried flag and still wind in voices.
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