he’s calling an army to scream your name.
from the hills on the edge of life
there’s a flagpole, a flagpole
painted white whose flag stands
limp in the center of the wind.
dried up it is tough to tell that it
pleads

MERCY

because the shadows on it
cast it black.
then who died, sir?
if you are not surrendering,
then who died?
sir?

he’s calling an army to scream your name.
from the Arbor splattered red
dangles a noose.
there’s a flagpole, a flagpole
painted with salt whose body flies
in slow swings in the stream of the storm.
from afar it is tough to tell that it
is

dead.