Love War

I.
Being a journalist in this war,
who are you writing to--yourself or
readers--how can you be
objective? The daily agony
you witness--
the fucking up of a person, me,
that's more me than anything in your everyday life everyday before, and after,
jilting you my cringing body
in a day--who are you talking to?:
The war? Shouting at the fight?:
you chickenshit.


II.
When broken
last thing you see
is myself
enigmas
breaker be-
comes pa-
per


III.
The leaves are cold
they stay green in Florida
Decembers come, no wind
blows down the ochred, oranged
ornaments on trees
to leave their skeletons;
what has become of you and me
since I learned these things?