Never beaten by parents dead to me
Not forced into battle so early that
synapses, burnt from overload fired
into separate beings

I only kick in my sleep
I have never flashed back,
except one time
And my stitches are well hidden.

inconsequential to most
I have my marks, behind my garments
Which, like a grenade
will take me out if improperly handled.

Do I need a more
colorful explosion?
Should the city go
up in flame?

Kenny ripped the paper off the package
And unwound the gray fuses,
intertwined like possibilities
lost, possibilities arriving.

Something just wasn’t right
Ignited from some secret source,
The possibilities evaporated in tiny white
showers of light but he held on, and

It blew his finger off,
I can still hear him laughing
right before the scream.

Cement,
If I were an English professor of poetry, I'd give you the highest marks possible for this provocative (a good thing) poem. It flows, the words are expertly crafted, they all fit together. Soooo many interpretations are possible. I could write my life history using this poem as an outline.

'tis deeply moving for me. a bowl of chocolate ice cream thanks to you sir.

jer

THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH...I cannot say how much that means to me.

James