Ghazal of the Sucking Chest Wound
During insurgent ambush when 44th mortar round hit,
Angel of Death appeared between my legs as Loretta Swit.
She sucked my half-soft cock, with wind sock sighs,
Mouthfuls of platitudes and morphine syrettes.
There in Holy Land bath of mud-blood, I rasped chunks of
Lung tissue through loose teeth chattering like castanets.
“Shhh,” Loretta said, though I was, by then, already dead
MOTHERFUCKERS!I could’ve been a lover, not
Fish-white belly up vet.
Please pack my short-time effectsas sea chest tube socks
Next to a nest of purple medals, vital organs, ghosts of
the unborn, and other assorted regrets.