I keep my head shaved, closet full of Corcoran
& camouflage; in my sleep I march alongside
the blood of my brothers
scan newspapers for incongruities, hidden messages
between the Stars & Stripes; transpose propositional
phrasing of clef & staff. My papers are in order.
Duffle bag, like a faithful dog, is beside me.
I listen to the ground for marching feet
Poised for infiltration;
a prize fighter always waiting for the bell,
a sounding line for depth; solid
footing for a footnote.
Upright jackals on my nightstand balance between
a lunar eclipse & oiled artillery
adherent to rules, the call of the battle;
my unit is one heartbeat, in that moment
when flags are planted
on violent fields.