To lie with dogs dead as logs

While we shuffle out the blast

We shovel out the last
Our ashes the swine of the faeces in the kerosene burns
We shit upon plywood 8-holers in conexes
The snipers like clouds of angry gnats.
Look in the burn-barrel my friends
For as I wander, you will find us there
For have we shat our hearts
And any pat-a-puppy-on-the-head fell
2 inches flat
Into our soldier souls turned to chicken scat
but would that we could
kick out a turd at the squat
but the food’s too bindery and well,
it’s just too fucking hot

the humpings gone
unnoticed but spat upon nonetheless
“yours is no disgrace”
to lie with dogs dead as logs
in summer skies with lightning
like the fingers of the cancer
bone-broke and slip-wrench cut
to sleep perchance to die
between the bottle-ass brothels, the
gap-tooth chatty whores
where winter rangers with their winter black fingers
a-split like my sleeping soldier’s lips
the salt trails up & down his back
the blood into his boots

“fuck, this pressure’s a heart attack.”

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