This---Is---War

We shall not now concern ourselves with the
grass snake, who lingers such,
above whose duckweed
we are remiss. Instead,

I delivered papers at daybreak
on summer weekends way::::back:::::when.

Red Radio Flyer
wagon down Green Street, not a car in sight.
Okay, she said, (meaning: my animus)
I'll admit to morning's stiff sacrament;

I am, after all, not a person above
inventing bangled lecticorns &
stealing ex-girlfriend's Harvard sweatshirts.

Can you imagine? No such brine shrimp
knows any such heaven
as blowjobs in the maintenance closet,
brackish wine just fine,
switching shirts like the time
is ripe for some kind of encoding:

this---is---war
not what we want it to be, necessarily
but more wonder than
one deer,
and I dare say: it strikes me the same.
It is more than enough.