jack, dog, speaks at the captain’s funeral

them heathen took you, my captain, 
yes you, 
my captain 
my commander, 
my every thing
my only thing
yes, you, in that coffin
them well-washed, 
smokeless men,
in this wrong hangar 
they bleached you of your death.
they speak you are here
they wear white gloves
they speak you are there
they release white doves
they know not smoke
they breathe only white air.

would that i could catch your smoke
would that you, 
in there, 
could be me 
in this scentless air.
in this wrong hangar 
they speak without scent
their soft civilian salutes
their fingers fat
their “hero” this
their “supreme” that.
captain, my captain
give me something from this slip of a stone
your shirt of mud
your boot of blood
a marrow of your bone

i have no home


jack, dog


say something nice ... or not

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s