Film #6: Eve in Vietnam, July 8, 1968

By | 1 October 2020

The rain never touches us. Light pushed
from stolen sky: a summer too early, we
mar into another war. Whittled into
indigo, the color of small infants, thrashing
under currents. Somewhere, the moon
becomes a muscle memory in ruin. Rain
intensifying like radio. The sky, more than
it can hold. Tomorrow, we will lie on our
backs. With our eyes, unblinking. Our mouths,
open quotation marks. & we will lower
ourselves into surrender. To muffle every cry,
flattened by falling, at once. At night, every
sound from our throats will be too quiet
to be forgiven. & perhaps the gods will
refuse us. For having seen too much. Years
drained into obsession. Red rolling by
our palms. For tonight, we crack the sky
with a torch & fetch holes into wounds.
Moon mimicked toward dust. & we take
turns being illuminated. The rest, kneeling
into epitaphs. No bodies mark our stay.
Only end, among us.

This entry was posted in 97 & 98: PROPAGANDA and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related work:

  • No Related Posts Found

Comments are closed.