i will not turn my head
my dream of you is soft and porous now
golden glimmers fleck off with time
and we will not shake like friends
but hold our shoulders stiff
because it's cheaper now
purity and innocence
jokes for our sarcastic charms
like soldiers making necklaces
of the children's fingers
recalling the crunch of their heads under the wheels
of the armored convoy
led ever on by a higher up
an officer named Maturity
and when we get out
we'll write a letter from home
saying, I miss battle
things make more sense when you're killing Time
it was my favorite enemy
then you'll die and place
a flag for whoever they are
so they get remembered and not you
then you'll walk around picking flowers
and talk to me like we're still alive
"let's sell the flowers at market today"
"what a profit we'll make," i'll say
repeating the familiar colloquialism
and the color will drain from my face
like a portrait of a silent film actor
left with a fade to black and the words on my lips written
in white
"What have I become?"
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