Nonessential Equipment
The dog and I are first among those things
that will not be deployed with him. Forget
civilian clothes as well. He shouldn’t bring
too many photographs, which might get wet,
the faces blurred. He only needs a set
of uniforms. Even his wedding ring
gives pause (what if it fell?—he’d be upset
to dent or scratch away the gold engraving).
The seabag must be light enough to sling
across his shoulder, weigh almost nothing,
each canvas pocket emptied of regret.
The trick is packing less. No wife, no pet,
no perfumed letters dabbed with I-love-yous,
or anything he can’t afford to lose.
Jehanne Dubrow
Charlie Foxtrot’s Fruit Salad
The muskets and grass travel among the graves
that are will-stained as the sacrament with wine. Clasped
bone-drag as anchors. Mold casted into trenched caves
too many scaffolds treaded upon, perhaps,
the truth-be-tolds. I thought to study the living grasping
of things. Even the low growls of hesitation misbehave
and hesitate (what if it’s alive?—this unruly cadaver gasps
too parched or blank to render memories, enslaved).
The cacolet swaths to scathe
across the slopes, tipped as a velvet wave,
each perfect blade wrinkled of dead weight.
The absolute is blood to dust. No limb, no ache,
no mercy from the others with un-calibrated-blues,
or breeched and muzzled cannons to abuse.
Brandy Adams
I tried again to use the replacement calisthenics technique. It isn't completely true to form.
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