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.

This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

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 )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google 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