169 – Berm


I swallow shrapnel
with a cup of cold water

shred my insides
with probiotics and fiber.

I’m building a berm
inside myself.

My calve veins pulse
an unnamed country.

When the black star
meaning capitol blooms

I’ll surrender.
They’ll play Taps

while the lights turn out
and the revolution

turns back to guts
and ashes.

Skin sloughs. Bone
wears away.

Fibrous twists of wire
will plant themselves

in the crater that was
me. New growth

will sprout
covering what’s left.

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