reflections on wartime

every man in my life
after age 14
is a self-inflicted wound

a co-dependent bullet
straight to the head
fired during an uncivil war
my body count ever mounting

motivated by guilt and bottomless pockets
that crazy winchester broad
wouldn’t stop building her rifled ghosts
an idyllic dead end mansion

but i’m not much hung up on completion
or that brand of irrational effort

i think i’ll just find a peaceful beach to construct
a thatch and bamboo lean-to
with an open bar

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