Wound

They call it ballistic trauma this hole in him.

There are words like migration and lodging

When a bullet moves through the body stops

And stays like when he comes home like that.

On the television news they are trying trying

To plug up the oil leak all that oil gushing out

Like blood from a wound like this and like this.

And I dress it in my mind as I dress myself

Wrap my mind around it and its endlessness.

And I think about all the birds and the people

And even him migrating around with nowhere

To lodge and nowhere to go but back back again.

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