gather twenty pocket lighters
into twig bundles – ignite every
menthol in the room. i dont
smoke i resent dying young.
in the sparse heat of June
the moon explodes –
remove our shirts dried
above our heads, hoisted
flags at high mast, no mourning
no morning for surrender
no morning when
the great-grandfathers tilled
the land to ash; war factories
for TV magistrates. weren’t
we all talentless performing
artists before the new nuke winter?
weren’t we all hypnotists
& false psychologists before
we poisoned Shelley Duvall?
within the bomb kingdom i’m sorry
we didn’t know a fragile crust
before splitting it in two,
the sun blistering our lips
shut against the August war
it’s too hot to fight for anything
but the bare-chested hero soldiers
of the ancient 70s. forgive us, Shelley
we didn’t know how alien our minds became
we didn’t know