i never walked in graveyards.
i never had enough friends.
so i went alone. i burrowed far underground
below the dirt but above the river
and i found the eyes that no one's seen,
even though these are the men
to whom you owe your sense of pride,
your scout's honor, the way your kid smiles,
these are the green-clad ghosts who died
not for you, but for the way you'll live your life.
i don't know where. jungles. deserts.
the scorched earth above me.
someone knew a long time ago.
but where is the import?
where is the urgency? where are the flowers
and the marble tombs? if i'm disgusted
it's not because of the worms.
there's no one left to look at them
except me, maybe, if i can bring myself to
open my eyes. far underground.
they're not sleeping. so why am i?
a tattered hand and a rancid mouth.
i want to be shaken but i'm afraid i'm too jaded.
they tell me son, imitate death's true face
under the washed-out plots of these united states.
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