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