elegy in a shell crater
the mud muddle addled waiting
at the battlefield’s settling of nothing
so many similar simulacrum pocks
blasted in the crater goodbyes
the tree’s lament for the leaves that left
with the grass that flew and never landed
on the outfield beneath the now and again
the barbed wire grinning at the rattling
of a bayonet’s pointed remarks
that brooked no argument
slime and slime again
that cold sinking feeling resurfaces
am i the final word in this elegy
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