he has seen others do it for over a year or more do it
turn their well-turned cuffs and close their hands
over the buttons cufflinks, hear that hard not-to-hear
hand-cuffs as you now see his partner
across the table raise her brows asking if she can, no, may help him
he drops his hand sees his watch land
in the butter pats the crusty white bread
from where in the old country this came
it’s been too long to call it an invasion
or an occupation his injury isn’t physical physical
damn that song physical physical
he smiles at his wife he is pretty sure she’s his wife
when she smiles too knowing the broken and missing in action
body parts are not the hardest losses,
some of the limbs even can be replaced,
bones, joints, even organs
keep on ticking, it’s the brain now that refuses
what it has seen and can still see to his endless
frustration the dead wash up on beaches, while the living
cut them-selves shaving, wanting end less
end more watches and clocks switch faves they want
him draw a time and he guts it right, the watchmen
dance dance dance set him free every day at 3:00
first the writers lied about the glory of the battle
then writers lied with statistics about how everybody
shot high. He fell back on his pillow sweaty after his daily
hallucination, how he had shot and killed with intent
with accuracy like he learned from Blackwater who covered
everything including how to chew how to swallow all
the shit kept pouring out of him for days, but had since
ceased, pause. The pain in his left shoulder drilled
 a new well dry, like the others. Hear echo clacking unfashionable
leather soled librarian shoes, you you man! tightening
her straps well-turned angels so Godly there had never been
a surgery, though she treasured the thought of scars
and Cronenberg making things up wearing a star lit watch
measuring nothing so much as an idea without math or money
ears pinging from their abstract universe with no time left to watch
he closes his eyes hoping to see less time feel less pain




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