1

THE BULLET


What to do, when one comes, loves two;
Through Death’s sultry regards, alive,
shuffles fool; love becomes a duel; 
He’s made soldier-mule, when ought drive;
And dances not to their own stance,
but to romance—along the beat
There. What flags thence trumpeted as fair,
now bare, becomes interred ‘neath street.
Under gravel, wars coalesced:
indelible history’s behest;
Ineffable lover undressed.
Undead lover, ‘tween leather,
relations of bodies’ dirt and death.