Saturday, November 17, 2012

Arlington Cemetery Funeral


Iwo Jima, glory on the hill.

You know what it looks like

and the million white crosses

rolling dirt sea to the east.


Melting summer day worms

black limos lined down the drive

high and tight genitals in blue uniforms

with gold stars assemble around


a hole in the ground, no one minding

off in the shade, a yellow excavator

that never goes deeper than six feet.

This poem too never goes deeper,

it is just a picture.

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