Grunt Circles

(Read at The Headstrong Project's fundraising event Words of War at IAC HQ in NYC)

When that airplane hit the tarmac

I hit the ground running;

the confusion

of

a

wild

pack

biting at my heels

chasing me in circles,

on

    that

           tarmac.

Electric death clouds

chase me too

rain blood

and that flight crew

waive neon sticks

guiding me the wrong way,

again.

She was a favorite holiday

all of those beautiful bursting explosions

a smell of sulfur hung in my sniffer,

you are not beautiful anymore

the wild pack is exhausting

lost in these endless circles

and I keep saying,

ONE OF THESE DAYS WE’LL GET IT!

when I am weighed down

with a double combat load

and no soul to share the weight

Crooked liberals and crooked conservatives

throw me up on a flag

and

     tell me

what you were,

when I was

the only soul to see,

Liberty can find me in a dive bar;

on a trashy street corner,

maybe in politics or on a dance floor,

down seven sheets again.

Let me tell you

a

little

story

called

the Battle of Fallujah!

the war was easy like birthday gifts

you just show up

and unwrap your surprise.

you can find me

in

your

dreams,

I am your brother

Screaming is the quietest thing children

have

    ever

seen

I am your father.

but the surprise about that tarmac

that has me running in circles;

this place is not in a combat zone,

this is

what I call

                              coming

           home.