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This Delicate Battle
Thom Stromer
I SEE BEAUTY TOSSED ABOUT
LIKE HAND GRENADES,
BUT NONE OF IT MAKES ME FLINCH
LIKE HER AMMUNITION DOES.
HER'S IS THE HIGH CALIBER GRADE.
FINE, IMPORTED
SHRAPNEL DISPERSING RADIANCE.
I KNOCK ON HER DOOR
AS SHE PULLS THE PIN.
IT OPENS AND DETONATES IN MY FACE.
RED/BLOND LOCKS OF SHATTER
EAR CRACKLING SMOKEY GIGGLE
FULL BOUNTY OF BREAST IN WHICH
A HEART AMONG HEARTS OUTPUTS
BEAT AFTER BEAT OF THUMP
THAT BURSTS MY EAR DRUMS.
I SEE IT ALL
AND HEAR IT ALL
AND I SHOULD LAY DOWN AND DIE,
BUT STRUGGLE TO STAY ON MY FEET.
AS WEAK-KNEED AND DIZZY
I AM,
WITH BAD PALM SWEATS,
WHITE SPOTS IN THE EYES,
I KEEP GOING.
LIKE THE IDIOT SAVANT
SOLDIER I AM.
TRYING TO CAPTURE THE HEARTFLAG
AND CLOSE THIS DELICATE BATTLE.
Thom Stromer
copyright 1999
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