cost analysis…

an armada of ships
sail to the gulf coast
to assist with capping
an oil well
potential losses
in the billions
floods in pakistan
thousands dying
potential loss
no real

when pilate saw…

i am an old soldier
the scars i have
and the wars
i’ve fought
are many
each scar you see
is yours
for each war
has been for you
so my blood
runs in your veins
transfused there
by some battlefield medic
that you have
only read about
not cared about
as you stood in line
at starbucks
holding the morning news
in hands now ink-stained
hands that you washed
as if the ink was blood
and you wash them again
when i returned home
scrubbing me from your memory
as well as any thought
of your part
in those deaths
upon the cross
of freedom

illusion and/or ship of my childhood…

like all boys do
made from mud and bricks
a dam
to hold back the flood of tears
which fell as rain
from the eyes of angels
so that we might sail our ships
across this ordained
yet demonic sea
ships made from
now forgotten dreams
and small pieces of wood
with sails
of gum wrappers
and string
and when our ships were ready
we began our journey
to lands uncharted
within our minds