Young lieutenants at End-Evening-Nautical-Twilight

180 miles east

of Los Angeles’ pointless summers

ran

shaven,

heady,

lieutenants

low-spark’d,

high-heel’d,

bat-faced

wayward boys, they

counted

coup

like crazed cats

their innumerable, mounting losses

angel, dawn

devil, dusk

twilight

preceding death,

by not natural-causes