With a violent pop a firecracker/flashback kicks up
the dirt stained with the same smells of dirty war, it comes alive
like a poem/a book/a random thought/a sign/a shape/a figure/
a metaphor, if not just a syllable:

An anti-poem, An anti-thought,
Random and Irrational-

My world turns one dada da-da da-da
movement at a time.

In warfighting years I am old
and dada is anti-war, but I
cherish the sounds and smells of battle
no less war
for all its booms pops and clicks,
the assault point a step beyond
always a moment/movement away-

One foot here another foot there
my mind somewhere between
the random lines of chaos on a collage.

But I'll never piss on a poem
to bring it back to life,
nor free enough to be
liberated from
mutual self-destruction
and I am very good for profit margins-

From where I come
the irrational can lead to death.
Written by mbass33 (matthew bass)
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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