Outside Saigon, January, 2006

Tread smears.
Silence, then
scuttled leaves. Breathe –

breathe and
flash-bang / drop

in                 womb-wet dark.
Dink ghosts nest
or flit. They forget no

raw scent & flap at
tiger-piss sweat icing your spine.

Move. Strip. Tape your cock
back, lean
into viper, millipede, into dew & dust,

into the withered, lacquered tit
of this last low night you must evolve

into   :        Because, napalm / star-
cluster. Because the map
of veins

on your fused, fermented stillborn
leads only to opium coils.

Over 200 fist-
gouged clicks of rotting air & fanged dark
will reduce you to

wind
birthed under the river

that never branches, from whose mouth
you’ll get cut your next
set of orders.

Monkey crawl. Slither.
Listen for screams.

The Ghost Choir Sings:

quick-kill, toe-poppers, sappers / bouncing bettys, tangle foot, rock ‘n roll, ambush /
H&I, arty, arc light, fox- / hole, tripflare, claymore, frags / di-di, grenades /  zippo party, click /
leeches, skeetas, search & destroy / LZ kill zone, Charlie / every swingin’ dick

James Young drained the lake in Blue Lake.


Published On: October 18, 2012
Permanent Location: http://www.forgetmagazine.com/1210cc.htm