TOMB OF THE UNKNOWN
He paints portraits
Of homeless veterans
As if he was
One himself
Caught in the grip
Of a conflict
On the battlefield
Of his mind
While he falls
In love with women
With roses tucked
Into their hair
Whose thorns stab
Like bayonets
Leaving him to
Bleed alone
I really like this poem--its economy, and the image of roses "tucked" into hair!
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