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(Vietnam, 1970)

Guts on floor

not good for self-image,

so not like

x-rays in calm

black and white. What you

thought Body

turned inside

out like a glove who knew

you carried, sliding

down bunker

where concrete dust

drifts, heavy with silence;

hearing the tramp of

blood in your ears, rising -- rising –

coming on like dusk.

We’re not books, though

we can be opened.

Don’t ask

the purple sheen answers

naked as newborns. Insists

what we are

Gargoyle Magazine Vol. 70, July 2019

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