Wounded on the slope by Travis G FinborgRemove my leg
I think it is lying on a stone
Thirty yards away
There is blood everywhere
But the moon is beautiful
Shining with an azure-ness
That comforts
I could float hear forever
The soft grass wetting my neck
Helping me to forget
My eyes are dirty
From all of the smell
The absolute stench of physical destruction
I cant see to breath
I raise my head and there is an
Explosion of sound
Each one of my pours absorbing
The waves like plastic receptacles
I am a drowning fly
Flapping feebly to dry my wings
For escape
Sensitivity is raised from its
Long forgotten grave
And slapped in an open offense
Death is in my bones
04/09/2002 Posted on 04/09/2002 Copyright © 2024 Travis G Finborg
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