FOXHOLE
Statuary in silence.
Transposed in my bones
frosty snacks of death
nerves digest
sitting swollen in
Non-movement.
All good pushed
and better gone.
Feces of Hubris about.
Fragments.
Understandable
pale shock
of cold insides sweating...
steady...
resisting the lure
of the killing place-
the foxholes of my heart
where cares go
so body survives.
Artillery,
then quiet...
brooding, moody
melancholy...
strange malaise in disbelief
of this solitude, still..
Waiting, watching,
wishing-
hoping.
Statues of the still living
shoot morbid ignorance
of the dead.
War is a drug.
Advance, withdraw
or die.
Statuary in silence.
Shakes.
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