destination meat

behold a corrosive vapor
wafting through the atrium of
forgotten wood

we, the lachrymose
full regalia and organic sailcloth
as burnt clouds

commander sipping a
julep, talking shop, talking
the time everyone he knew
was killed by friendly fire,
talking out the window

dripping guilt from every
hair follicle in the charring
heat, glasses on, lost

when you held my hand and wept
in the atrium,
i'm sorry that i stabbed you

it's all meat, right
it's only temporary

lots of things are a battlefield

we are not young
everyone knows we're wrong

today i coughed up
a ball of hatred, today
my oatmeal was cold
today i became a cloud

today was steps and flags

lots of things are a battlefield
only the penitent shall pass