Thursday, June 23, 2016

Matt Borczon- Three Poems

maybe summer

maybe the
summer needs
to write
its own story
its own
across my
eyelids and
over my

burnt orange
skies on
days hot
as the
wind through
a hangman’s

as my
red hot
pokers bloom
like radiant
missiles  in
my garden
of love

today I
have quiet
and coffee
thought and

but no

Military town

the air
smells of
diesel and
coal dust
just off
the highway
and even
at rush hour
this town
feels empty
as I
cross the
road looking
for a meal
and anyplace
less lonely
on a military
away from home

some days
I hate
this uniform
it reminds me
of how
far away
my family
and I
are from
who I
used to
be back

before the
war stole
my optimism
my energy
my faith
most of
my kindness
all of myself

and left me
full of
and the smell
of blood I
still can’t
wash off

left me
here or
home or
alone or
in formation

standing  like
a ghost in
service dress


Its an
Beatles song
kind of

suns out
windows down
and driving
so fast the
shadows on
the street
are a
puppet show
a Chinese opera
or Ferris wheel
a classic novel

about a man
and a whale
and I just
might be one
or the other

because today
I am anything
and everything
screeching  under
these wheels.

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