Amy Casey, Cocoon, 2011, Acrylic on Paper, 22″ X 28″
WAR BABY DRINKS BLOOD AGAIN
First blood turns the eyes inward.
Engorged from a jugular, seeing red
we tip the cup, brother to brother,
our guts squirming like eels in a crab pot.
Blood is all we see.
We run together, dusk to dawn
along the waterfront, our horny feet
never touching ground.
In each new pledge we taste
the beginning of another blood lust.
Turn away so you can’t see us
chasing shadows after the sun
goes down. Take comfort in this:
if you can’t see us we must not exist.
We are made of water. We run
through veins of history where tired nuns
wash blood off pitted runways
after all the bombs are dropped.
The blood tide in bloodshot eyes
waxes with the full moon.
When you go back to work in the morning
you will feel a lot brighter
having carried this far downstream.
Go on, jump, brother.
See where you land.
_____________________
David Memmott